


Treading Water

by mansikka



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anxiety Attacks, Beach House, Domestic, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, M/M, Memories, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Michael Guerin Loves Alex Manes, Nightmares, POV Michael Guerin, Panic Attacks, Protective Michael, Sad Alex Manes, Triggers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-13
Updated: 2020-03-13
Packaged: 2021-02-26 12:57:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 24,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22833922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mansikka/pseuds/mansikka
Summary: When Alex's panic attacks become too much to deal with in Roswell, a break away from everything seems like the best idea. Their beach house is idyllic, their routine a simple one. Though while some of the tension begins to drop from Alex's shoulders, Michael still fears this break won't be enough to help. What will it take to get them home again, and for Alex to seek the help that he needs?
Relationships: Michael Guerin/Alex Manes
Comments: 40
Kudos: 91





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! 
> 
> First things first; please read the tags. And then please read these notes. Nothing more awful than canon is happening to anyone. But some of the things that happen - i.e. the panic attacks specifically I think - it's best you are aware of happening before you read. This is a look at a few things diverging away from canon, such as: what if Michael had got his scholarship but decided he wanted a simple life anyway? What if Michael and Alex stayed together (mostly) happily the entire time? What if they talked about difficult things and it made them stronger instead of either of them leaving/giving reasons to leave? And then what if, when Alex was injured, Michael did his best to move heaven and hell to help him recover in the aftermath?  
This fic is not a fantastically healthy/over-enthusiastic 'hey let's get therapy and every bad thing will go away'. This is before that's even a possibility for Alex, the months leading up to Alex making the decision to do that for himself. This is Alex being stubborn about getting help, Michael doing his best and worrying it's not enough, and the two of them having the support of family and friends in the background. All while they love each other fiercely, through everything, and quite honestly, on every surface. Because they're cosmic and just can't help themselves, see?  
Posting once a week over four weeks (I think), the story is complete so won't be abandoned. I don't like posting complete fics all in one chunk despite it being ready to post. So... patience! Says me, who refuses to read WIPs, and refuses to start posting fic before the entire thing is written...
> 
> Um. Happy reading I think?

“Alex, c'mon. You promised me you'd let me take care of you.”

Fear pits itself in Michael's stomach as he watches Alex. His profile is lit by the setting sun behind him, highlighting the dark blue bruises under his eyes. His posture, which once used to set Michael's teeth on edge when it became strict and regimented for Alex going back to his _war_, is instead slouched forward, as though Alex has given up on the world. His hands grip loosely to the railing of their decking, his thumbs beating an absent, dull thud against the wood. The only sign that Alex is listening to him is the slight clench of his jaw when Michael goes to speak again.

"Alex—"

Alex’s hand slips into Michael's securely latching around his fingers, squeezing them gently in a way Michael knows means for him to give him a minute. Alex looks down at the flexing toes of his left foot against the decking, scrunching them up to toy with the dusting of sand there. His jaw works as though he's choking back bile as he looks at the boot encasing his other foot. Michael holds his breath as Alex's lips purse before he raises his head, again turning his focus back out to sea. Michael continues to watch him as the tide laps away at the beach further down from them, pleading with himself to find the words that might make all of this okay. Though how can he? How can anything be okay for Alex right now? After everything Alex has been through, what empty words are ever going to do anything to help?

Alex won't even talk about it. Michael knows brief details from a guy called Joshua from Alex's now-former unit, who had been saved from worse injuries than the slashes and cuts to his arms and torso by Alex shielding his path. Michael knows there was an I.E.D. and an ambush, and that Alex lost so much blood he almost lost his life as well as his leg out there in the desert. He'd been so pale when Michael had flown to see him in the military hospital in Germany, breaking Michael's heart for trying to not show he was upset. Michael had taken one look down at Alex's raised leg swaddled with thick wads of dressings before both of them had started to cry. Michael thinks he can still feel the way Alex had grabbed on to him so desperately when he'd all but fallen on to the bed beside Alex, desperate to hold him.

Alex turns then, calling Michael's attention back to this beach and their decking, leaning to kiss him firmly on the mouth. Their kiss lingers, a silent communication between them that means _I'm okay_, and _give me time_, and _I'm here with you_. Alex sighs against his lips before pressing their foreheads together and pulling back with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “You are taking care of me, Michael.”

“But—” 

“I'm _fine_.”

Alex stops him with another kiss, changing the grip of their fingers and looping his free hand around Michael's waist, pulling them chest to chest. “I have you. I have this beach. We have this beach house, where there are literally no bars our phones inside," Alex adds with a nod towards the small building that is their temporary home. "Our kitchen cupboards are full. We have a fridge full of beer. Our guitars. More books than we can hope to read in a lifetime."

"I don't know about _that_," Michael says, gently swaying Alex in teasing, thankful when he sags willingly against him. "You've read three already. And we've only been here a week."

Their beach house. Isobel found them it, sweet-talking a connection through a client who she's hosted several events for, who is giving them the place rent-free for as long as Alex needs. Alex had grown antsy when Isobel had mentioned this _discount_ being because he was a veteran, an overly-generous _thank you for your service_ that Michael is sure Alex will find a way to repay. He'll help him if he needs to, but for now, all Michael wants is Alex to take the time he needs to recover. He knows he has a fight on his hands trying to make him but will do it, every day it takes, anything he has to do, until Alex can feel whole again.

"We don’t have to think about the rest of the world, or anything at all," Alex adds. "It's just you, and me, and that's all of it. Michael, what more could I need than that?”

Alex then raises his hands to cup Michael's face and kisses him again for longer this time, once more sighing softly against his mouth.

“I get it, Alex. You know that I do. You know that I'd stay here _forever_ with you, if it's what you need. But maybe talking—”

“I'm not ready." Alex cuts him off with his choked out words and a sharp snap of his head from side to side. His breath shudders as he tries to compose himself, giving Michael a watery smile when he forces himself to look up. "Not yet, okay? Just give… just give me a little longer. Okay?"

Michael drops his head in defeat but smiles anyway, kissing Alex back with as much reassurance as he can. “Okay, Alex. But when you're ready, I'm here. I'm always here.”

Alex closes his eyes and breathes out heavy, nodding as he drops his hands to rest them on Michael's chest. "You always were. You always are."

"Well. That's what _this_ is all about, right?" Michael squeezes Alex's wedding ring to get his attention.

Alex smiles, a real one, holding his hand up for Michael to slot his fingers through before tracing the ring on his hand. "It is."

"You ready to go in?" Michael asks, watching Alex turn his focus once more out to sea, monitoring the way his chest rises and falls to be sure that his breathing is steady. They have been down on the beach just _once _all week, with Alex clinging on to Michael with a vice-like grip as they'd taken a few paces. Michael hopes the sea air will do something to refresh him, though doesn't blame Alex for taking it slow. Even with how quickly Alex has adjusted to having his prosthetic, it is an entirely different world walking on flat ground instead of shifting sand.

"Five more minutes," Alex replies, gesturing for Michael to stand behind him, letting his head fall back on Michael's shoulder as he wraps his arms around his waist.

* * *

The beach house is a one-level building perfect in every way for Alex, aside from the few steps leading down to the beach itself. The living room, dining room, and kitchen occupy an open space area, with a clever beach color theme that separates each room without dividing them off. Shells are stuck to the walls in clusters, small groups that really add to the decor instead of looking over the top like Michael had imagined they would with his first glimpse when they'd walked in. The suite is thick, and beige, with deep cushions and lots of throws and pillows ranging in colors of cream to chocolate. It is by far the most comfortable couch he has ever sat on.

Their bathroom is small, with only a shower; Michael would have much preferred a bath for Alex to use since the doctors who'd helped with his initial rehabilitation said it might do him good. But the space is ample for Alex to get himself around without too many problems, so really, the bathroom is ideal is ideal. And their bedroom here has a huge, plush bed, with two sturdy nightstands either side and a built-in closet on the far wall to its end. Again, the room is small, but has everything that they need; smaller rooms seem better for Alex right now, anyway, with less open spaces to have to maneuver.

The color theme from the open plan carries through to every room making rooms seem larger than they are, and extra light. It really is the perfect retreat. Michael only hopes that it _helps_. Alex is fast asleep now in their bed, finally resting peacefully after a fitful sleep. Though even from where Michael is stood in the bedroom doorway, pausing from his aimless walking around the house, the black circles under Alex's eyes stand out revealing his suffering. Michael watches him until his upper arm grows numb from being leaned on the doorframe, quietly turning away trying not to make a sound.

Is it ten days they've been here now? Two weeks? Michael checks the date on his phone sure that every day of late has blurred into one. His stomach clenches in protest when he walks into the kitchen thinking on a third cup of coffee, Michael instead taking a glass and filling it with filtered water from the fridge. He listens for Alex again to make sure he isn't stirring, ignoring the time telling him it is eleven in the morning, long after Alex would typically get up. When satisfied he isn't stirring, Michael drains his glass of water and walks out on the decking, sitting on the top step looking out at the sea.

It really is beautiful here. The air is crisp and clean with a hint of salt, the sand a soft, creamy color that their feet sink into on the few occasions they've taken a short walk. Michael has every intention of, when Alex is awake, putting on a pair of shorts and walking out to the water, letting the waves lick their way up his legs. He might even swim, though for now he wants to stay near the house, in case Alex calls and finds he isn't there, or wakes from a nightmare yet again.

With one more longing glance at the sea, Michael leans enough to get his phone from his back pocket, pausing with his thumb over the screen before sliding it open. His breath catches in his throat as he goes back to the saved article he's been reading whenever he gets the chance. With no phone signal anywhere near the house he's had to save things he wants to read for later, including this. Bile tickles the back of Michael's throat reading the details about _panic attacks_; is he ever going to understand enough to be able to help?

Michael wants to give Alex _everything_. He knows he's overcompensating at times, trying to cram in as much love and affection as he can for how many years they've spent only able to snatch moments together. But isn't that what being a husband is all about? If he doesn't get to cherish, and fuss, and do anything and everything he can to make Alex happy, then what was the point of marrying him in the first place?

His wedding ring is heavy on his finger, a constant anchor and reminder of where he belongs. Michael inspects it as he abandons the article he's reading, running his thumb over the tungsten band chosen for its durability so he never has to take it off; even when at work. Work that he's only been away from for a few short days yet already leaves him feeling like he has idle hands. Not that he isn't enjoying the time away with Alex. It's just that he's used to keeping a far different kind of busy than the one he is now.

Michael squeezes his hand in a fist before picking up his phone again from the decking, determined to read the article through. He knows some of the symptoms; for Alex, it is shortness of breath, wide eyes, a tension in his upper body as though he is frozen in place, and all of these things sometimes accompanied by him pressing a hand to his chest. Sometimes he is soothed by Michael wrapping his arms around him from behind, while on others Michael is frantic for nothing seeming to help. Michael thinks when he talks Alex through it, filling his thoughts with his nonsense ramblings, this is the most effective way to help him calm. Michael will happily try any suggestions he can get his hands on, which is why he keeps downloading these articles any chance he gets. But not one of them tells him how to deal with the aftermath, when Alex looks so _embarrassed_ for it all. There is nothing in this world that would make Michael love him any less. Some days are harder than others of later to convince Alex of that.

Michael needs to be with him, aching because he can't help, because he can't do anything but _be_ here with him. His heart races for not being close _enough_. Michael quickly walks through the beach house as quiet as he can, stripping out of his jeans at the foot of the bed as he watches Alex's prone form. He slides his phone on to the nightstand before carefully climbing into bed, doing his best not to jostle him. Alex remains asleep, though seems to know Michael is there for the way he smiles and turns towards him. Michael drapes an arm over his waist and wriggles closer, knowing peace for having Alex near. He is determined to watch him sleep, to revel in the softness of Alex's expression. Though their sleepless night filled with Alex's nightmares pulls Michael under, closing his eyes and calling him back to sleep within minutes.

* * *

“Alex. _Alex.._.”

Alex gasps out as Michael shakes him awake, thrashing around the bed and only stopping when he feels the press of Michael's hand against his chest. When Alex focuses his eyes on his face Michael waits for him to nod then presses his fingers firmer, pulsing his energy into Alex until he sighs in relief. His handprint on Alex has been one of the few things to soothe him, something they'd discovered in the middle of a nightmare the first night Alex was back in Roswell after his accident. For how effective it has been in the past, Michael wishes sometimes over the decade Alex was serving that he'd sent him back with a handprint every time he took up a new tour.

Though tonight, and in fact ever since the event that had sent them to this beach house in the first place, it isn't having the same impact at all. Alex's breath is still raspy as he tries to smile for him. He sits up balancing his weight more on his right side, pressing his fingers into his hair just above his temples and staring wide-eyed across the room as he tries to regain control of his breath. After leaning to switch on the bedside lamp Michael offers Alex his hand, keeping perfectly still to give him the quiet he needs. Alex tugs on his wrist so, at an awkward angle, Michael can press his fingers over his handprint, covering his hand with his own.

Alex's heart beats in protest against Michael's fingers as he continues to fight for air, slotting his fingers through Michael's and gripping on tight. Michael can't bear to see him like this, sitting up better and splaying his free hand wide over Alex's back. Alex groans as he first drops his head against Michael's shoulder, and then turns to snuggle into his neck.

“It's just a nightmare, Michael,” he chokes out, curling his fingers around his side as he turns more to him.

“I know,” Michael agrees as he wraps his arms around him in a loose hug when it's clear his handprint is no longer helping. “To be honest, Alex, I don't remember the last night you slept without one.”

Alex burrows closer still, pressing apologetic kisses against his throat. “I'm sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry for."

"I really don’t mean to keep waking you up like this,” Alex says as he lifts his head, kissing him in sleepy apology.

“Where else would I be? What else would I do?”

“I know,” Alex nods in between kisses, turning Michael's head so he knows to expect more of them. “But still.”

“Still nothing, Alex,” Michael insists, moving his hand to rest over Alex’s chest, frowning for the erratic beating he still feels there.

Alex looks down at his hand, shaking his head. “I’m okay.”

Michael clears his throat in disagreement, but rolls Alex on to his back anyway and straddles his lap, bracketing his face between his forearms. He strokes his fingers through the hair at Alex’s temples that is already a good inch or so longer than when he'd first got back, smiling for the tiny roll of Alex's hips that he takes as an invitation. Michael nips at the corner of Alex’s mouth, then at the fullness of his lip, nosing against his cheek before knocking their top lips together, encouraging Alex to open his mouth. Alex sighs into his kiss flicking his tongue against Michael's, bringing one hand up to thread his fingers through his curls. The other he presses firmly into the small of his back as he rolls his hips up a little firmer, wordlessly telling him exactly what he wants.

Michael smiles against Alex’s lips and grinds back down before reaching between them and rearranging them both as they thicken. He keeps a light grip around them as they kiss, thrusting into his own hand as Alex thrusts up with the softest of moans.

“See? There are perks to waking up in the middle of the night,” Alex tells him, letting his eyes fall closed as he rolls his hips a little more.

“We can do this at any time of the day,” Michael points out, nudging Alex’s jaw to one side and dropping his head so he can nuzzle against Alex’s neck.

Alex hums in agreement, sliding his hands over Michael's ass before letting them fall to the sheets as Michael curls himself up to make room for a better grip. Alex lifts his head so he can watch, reaching between them to swipe up the precum leaking from their heads and down the back of Michael's hand. He slots his fingers between Michael's with a squeeze that makes them both groan, whining and parting his legs further. Michael moans his appreciation into his neck, biting harder there before nipping at his ear.

“Tomorrow,” Alex whispers. “Tomorrow. I want us to do this outside. Out on the beach.”

Michael hums against Alex’s throat telling him how much he likes that idea, leaning up to claim his mouth. "Anywhere. Anything."

"And out on the decking," Alex adds as he alters his grip on him. "We can put some blankets down. Some pillows. If I hold on to that railing, I can ride you."

Michael gasps with how much he wants it kissing Alex harder still, twisting his wrist so Alex knows to move faster. Michael changes his grip again making Alex let out those raspy little sighs that make Michael _ache_ with how much he wants him.

“Michael,” Alex groans out with a glance down between them, kissing becoming impossible for the noises falling from both their mouths. Michael braces up more on one hand, choking out his own gasps as Alex arches beneath him.

A couple more strokes has them coming within seconds of each other, spilling over their stomachs as groans ripple through them both. Their kisses are sloppy as they regain their breath, Alex's smile against his mouth and the quick jolt of his hips Michael's signal to move. Michael kisses him again before sliding from the bed, using the bathroom quickly and wiping himself down before returning with a damp washcloth to clean Alex up.

When he's done, Michael slides back into bed beside Alex, extending his arm so he can cuddle back into his side. Alex's toys with his chest hair as he settles against him pressing absent kisses into his skin. "Thank you."

"Uh, Alex? How long have we been together now?"

Alex smiles against Michael's jaw before kissing him there. "A little over ten years?"

"Exactly. So since when do either of us need to say _thank you_ for sex?"

Alex's soft laughter eases some of the tension that's been curled around Michael's spine ever since Air Force officials had shown up at his workshop what has to be six months ago. It's been a whirlwind ever since; Alex's stubborn regime of physiotherapy following recovery from his surgery meaning he was up and mobile to some degree far quicker than any of his doctors expected. Michael had barely had the time to put in the various adaptations and aids needed around their cabin before getting Alex home.

Alex leaving the Air Force so quickly Michael thinks has played its part in why he is suffering the way he is now. He had no time to adjust to the idea, not really given any choice when he was told his honorable discharge was happening whether he protested or not. And ever since, Alex has given himself no time to just _be_, or _think_; which Michael gets in part. He just wishes Alex would be kinder to himself.

"I wasn't saying thank you for the sex," Alex replies with a hint of teasing as he steals another kiss. "I was saying thank you for this. _All_ of this."

Michael takes the wave of Alex's hand to mean the beach house and their rapid departure from Roswell when everything got too much for Alex. How could Michael have done anything but drop everything for Alex, to try to give him all he needs to recover?

"Don't need to thank me. Just need to go easy on yourself. If you do that, then that's everything I need."

"But I've taken you from your work—"

"My workshop will be just fine without me," Michael replies, thinking of the small car repair business he's built himself up over the years, doing well enough to have two members of staff who he knows will look after it in his absence.

"And your family—"

"_You're_ my family," Michael tells him, raising his head to kiss him and keeping eye contact until Alex nods. "You come first. Always."

"I know," Alex agrees dropping his gaze before letting out a shuddery breath and making himself look again.

"And besides. We speak to them every week. Do you really think Isobel won't start asking to come visit us at some point? Probably Max too? Maybe even Kyle?"

Their friends and family have been incredible in the way they have rallied around Alex. Alex isn't used to it; Michael is furious that he still hasn't seen his brothers in person since the accident. He makes his anger clear any time they have the audacity to phone, which isn't often. Though perhaps it's for the best right now. Their _real_ family that they've formed together in Roswell mean well, but at the moment for Alex their attention is a little too much. So as much as Michael wouldn't mind them visiting, he just hopes they can all give Alex the time he needs.

"Well. Hopefully none of them show up unannounced," Alex says, stroking his fingers down Michael's chest to teasingly grip around his length. Michael arches into his grip before getting a kiss to Alex's forehead, smiling when he looks.

"Let's sleep," Michael says, turning out the light with his thoughts since he's too sleepy to move. Alex snuggles closer still letting out a soft blast of breath sigh against his throat. Michael keeps his eyes fixed on the ceiling not allowing himself to sleep until he feels Alex drift off.

* * *

“I feel like we could be here forever,” Alex says, his eyes out to the horizon watching the sun setting orange over the rippling blue of the sea.

Michael looks up from the chair he’s sitting in on the decking, watching Alex off to the side of him with his hands gripped firmly around the rail. There is an unreadable set to his jaw.

“Do you mean you _want_ to be here forever? Or like you feel like you're not ready to go anywhere yet?” he asks gently, getting to his feet and moving to lean on the rail beside Alex. Michael wasn't thinking they'd be returning to Roswell for a while yet; they've barely been here three weeks.

Alex reaches to cover Michael's hand with his own, slotting his fingers in between and running them along the wood in the gaps. “Both, maybe?”

"Well. Whatever you need. We'll figure it out."

“Being here with you like this...” Alex's smile grows wider as he squeezes Michael's hand, so easily turning up the corners of Michael's mouth. “Every day I wake up next to you, to seeing the sun coming in through our bedroom window, and knowing the sea is literally right outside. I know the reason we're here isn't a good one, but I’m... I just feel so _lucky_ sometimes, you know? I didn’t realize I wanted this so much.”

“This?”

"Well. I have _you_," Alex says, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. "I have an _amazing_ sister-in-law who arranged all this for us in the first place. I have friends who support me, who don't judge me, or treat me differently after what happened. They could say so many things about me being here, or how I'm, _clearly_, not doing great. But they don't. They just—"

"They love you," Michael finishes for him, throwing an arm around Alex's waist and moving closer. "They all do. _I_ do."

“Yes. You _do_,” Alex agrees, nudging his head against Michael's shoulder as he smiles. "I hope you know I love you just as much. I hope you never feel taken for granted."

"Never." Where is this coming from? Michael yearns to be able to read Alex's thoughts sometimes. Not to intrude, but to help unravel the messy thoughts in his head.

“And you know I love our cabin. It’s our home."

Michael _loves_ their cabin. He'd lucked out finding an Airstream for cheap not long after Alex had first left to serve when they were seventeen. That had been _his_ first real home, that he'd lovingly restored over the years, giving _Alex_ something homey to come back to when he was on leave. But when Jim Valenti had died, leaving Alex his cabin in his will, _that_ had become their home. In secret of course in the beginning, since Roswell being what it is has never made _their_ kind of relationship one that goes uncommented on, and the spectre of Jesse Manes and his bigotry still lingered over their shoulders for years. But Michael had carefully and quietly restored the cabin in Alex's absence, proud of his efforts for the look of sheer wonder on Alex's face when he saw it for the first time. It _is_ their home; now close to fully adapted, so they have ample living space, and enough aids around its rooms to make life simpler for Alex. Michael has plans for a bathtub for Alex in the future, that he'd started collecting all the parts for when he'd had that panic attack that had driven them here.

"But this?” Alex says calling Michael's thoughts back as he gestures behind them. “This feels almost like a real home too, you know? Even if it is only temporary.”

"Well. However long we need to be here is just fine, Alex. But maybe if we _do_ leave here, we can start planning a vacation along the coast. I'll check the Airstream over, make sure she's roadworthy. We can go anywhere you want. We've never had a real vacation."

Alex was putting together a plan for his own coding business when they'd been back in Roswell. Once he's feeling able to, Michael thinks he'll carve himself a career he can do from home. So if regular breaks away at the coast somewhere is what Alex needs to be reenergized, they can both be free to leave whenever they want to.

Alex picked up his laptop yesterday morning for the first time since they arrived here. Without WiFi there is only so much he can do, but Michael had watched him puzzling away at an old bit of coding, and doing other tasks he could do offline. Alex had looked more like himself than he has done in a while. Here at the beach house, it is as though Alex is allowing himself to indulge in all the things he's never had time for in the past. The two of them spend their evenings out on the decking sometimes not talking at all, just plucking at their guitars. Michael has seen him scribble down song lyrics, and knows joy when he hears him humming around the house. Alex is learning to be peaceful within himself, and even if he has a long way to go yet, Michael has tentative hope that he'll start making more progress. Not that he'll love him any less no matter how long it takes.

Alex's nightmares suggest _a while_ might be what he needs. They still wake them both most nights, turning Alex in one of two directions. The first Michael prefers, since it involves cuddling up to _him_ and letting Michael be there for him, eventually letting a few words about what he's feeling out. The second sends Michael pacing up the length of beach, unable to enjoy it for worrying about Alex sat in the beach house alone needing space. It is the hardest thing in the world knowing Alex might need him, yet might not be able to reach him for needing some time on his own.

"I like that idea. A vacation," Alex says, nuzzling against Michael's cheek and looping his arms around his waist.

"Yeah?"

"Yes. Maybe not the moment we're _back_, but it's… I like that we have something to plan for. In the future."

The only plan for Michael's future that he knows is _Alex_. If it makes Alex feel like he has something to aim for he'll start coming up with routes for an Airstream road trip right now. Though it seems Alex has had enough of talking. He steps in front of Michael grabbing his arms to wrap around his waist from behind, sighing in temporary contentment when Michael tucks his chin over his shoulder.

* * *

“We’re fine, Isobel. We’re doing good. Yes, I promise. Everything is great. It's perfect here. Say that again?" Alex says then, his face crinkling up in concentration, squeezing Michael's hand so he knows to let go. Michael watches him press that hand to his ear trying to hear Isobel better for the signal constantly dropping out.

This tiny city on the Californian coast is a black spot in cell phone coverage. Their beach house is so remote, making their retreat away from the world that much simpler. Though their friends and family back in Roswell do insist on at least some calls to check they're doing okay. Michael watching Alex struggling to appease his _sister-in-law_ when he can barely hear her puts an odd kind of ache in his heart.

I’ll check in if there’s anything to report, okay?" Alex says then, which, along with his shift in tone, Michael takes to mean he wants to end the call. Now. "Yes. I promise. Michael is looking out.”

Michael waves his fingers gesturing for the phone, his heart now breaking for Alex's wobbly chin as he tries not to cry, blurting out a broken, "_bye_," before shoving the phone into Michael's hand. Michael waits until Alex has dropped his face into his neck and thrown his arms around his waist before he answers. "Hi."

"Is he okay?" Isobel says, Michael sure he can feel the concern he can also hear in her voice.

Considering he and Alex kept their relationship a secret until they'd married five years ago, Michael's siblings have embraced Alex into their family with no hesitation. Not that Michael was ever surprised they would; Alex is the kind of person who can make friends with anyone, and hell knows Max and Isobel want for Michael to be _happy_. Alex makes him happy like nothing else ever has.

Their initial skepticism when Alex had taken leave the moment he could after same-sex marriage became legal in New Mexico faded in minutes, for them both feeling Michael's sheer relief to be able to hold him. Michael still remembers that moment; vibrating with anticipation waiting to see Alex, paying no attention to the occupants of the Air Force Jeep as they dropped him off, yet _feeling_ Max and Isobel's surprise then excitement for him.

With Max it has been a quiet kind of friendship that has developed between him and Alex over the years, the two of them sharing a dark humor at times that others just don't get. And in turn, Isobel's need to _mother_ Alex currently far outweighs the usual snark and sass that goes back and forth between them. It is a strange turn of events that Michael is no less thankful for.

"He's only upset because he's not used to you being _nice_, Iz," Michael replies, feeling Alex snort with teary laughter against his neck. Michael splays his fingers wide on Alex's back to keep him close, closing his eyes to compose himself before he speaks again. "Yeah, Iz. He's doing okay."

"Are you sure?" Isobel asks, in a tone that suggests she's ready to drive out to them, which neither one of them are ready for yet.

"Absolutely. Listen, we'll call next week, okay? Gonna head back to the house, get some lunch."

"Okay," Isobel says, her reluctance voiced in a blasted out sigh. "But if you need anything—"

"You're my first call," Michael finishes for her. He lets her ramble for another few words before ending the call, pressing a kiss to the back of Alex's hair as he hugs him.

"I'm sorry," Alex says, burrowing in closer, still trembling against him.

"Got no reason to be _sorry_, Alex."

“I hate this,” Alex whispers, as Michael was expecting him to say. “I _hate _this.” Alex's words are broken, and thick, and when he lifts his head to look at Michael, Alex's eyes are overflowing with tears.

Michael curls a hand around the back of Alex’s neck, resting his forehead against Alex's while he toys with his hair.

“I hate that_ everything_ I—”

“You've been through a _lot_, Alex,” Michael tries to soothe. He’s tried every tactic he can think of to comfort him about this, and none of them really work; not enough to have a lasting impact, anyway. “You'll get through this too. You _will_.”

“But we don’t know that, Michael,” Alex says, pleading in his voice. “What if I never... what if—”

Michael recognizes all the little signs Alex is giving him, knowing it's time to cut him off. He slips his hand round to tilt Alex's chin up and kisses him firmly, circling his thumb over his cheek. “No, Alex.”

“I’m so _weak_,” Alex sobs out, tears leaking down his face faster than Michael can wipe them away.

“You're not _weak_. Not at all. You might not believe me right now, Alex, but I'm gonna keep repeating it to you until you do.” For Alex's defeated shaking of his head in answer, Michael kisses him once more before encouraging him to drop his face into his neck again.

“I _feel _weak,” Alex mumbles into Michael's skin. Michael nods against him. He doesn't agree at all, but how else must Alex feel when his whole world has been turned around like it has?

“I know you do. We'll get you through this, okay? Whatever we need to do.”

"I _love_ you," Alex says, crowding ever closer and digging his fingers so tight into Michael's shirt as he holds him, Michael is expecting to feel it rip. Michael brings a hand up to cradle the back of Alex's head, turning enough to get a kiss to the side of it.

"I love you too," he whispers back, watching a car amble around a corner then make its way down the narrow street they are on to stop outside a grocery store further down. There aren't many people here, so few attract Michael's glare when they look their way. But he glares when they do, and also just in case they _think_ about looking. Alex won't be shamed for crying; not here or anywhere. Michael just wishes there was something more he could do to help.

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

The first time it happened, Michael thought Alex was getting sick, or that maybe there was a delayed infection or complication related to his stump. They’d been grocery shopping, Alex's stick wedged in the shopping cart as he held on to its handle for support. Michael had been so proud of him; up until then Alex had left Michael to buy their groceries, or limited his outings to smaller stores with less chance of running into people they knew. To see him walking along the supermarket aisles unfazed had made Michael need to throw an arm around his waist, claiming a kiss that brought their cart to a juddering stop. Alex had smiled at him curiously but then reached to pinch his chin between his finger and thumb to claim a second kiss that went on for far longer.

As they'd walked across the parking lot after paying, a car had come screeching around the corner, music playing loud and its occupants hollering out the windows like they were all drunk. Alex's face had gone chalky white, coming to an abrupt stop that Michael had to nudge him from for them being in danger of being hit by a car. When Michael rounded on him to check why he wasn’t moving—fearing something had happened to his leg—the terrified, lost look on Alex’s face stole the breath from Michael's lungs. He had guided him into the passenger seat of their truck clutching on to Alex as his breath first became thready, and then came out in choked, broken gasps like he couldn’t catch it. When they'd arrived back at the cabin, Alex had gone straight to bed without a word. Though he hadn't slept, only stared unseeingly across the room. Michael had been terrified, his suggestion of calling Kyle to look him over the only thing to rouse Alex. He had adamantly refused, charging away from Michael and making himself overly active like he needed to keep himself busy. The cabin had never been so clean.

The second incident was at a restaurant, a dinner with Max and Isobel about two months after Alex had come home. Something loud had clattered in the kitchen and was followed by several minutes of yelling, three members of staff running through with fire extinguishers in a cacophony of panic and noise. In the rush to evacuate the restaurant when they couldn’t get the fire under control, Alex had been pushed along in the crowd and away from Michael. When he'd disappeared, Michael's heart had been in his throat, finding him minutes later sat on a wall outside struggling to catch his breath. Alex was mortified when his knees failed him when Michael tried to help him up, clinging on to Michael with a death-like grip as he all but carried him to the car. Michael had made excuses to cut their dinner short, pleading with Isobel and Max not to comment as they looked at Alex in concern.

The third time had been before a check-up at the hospital. Alex refused to go anywhere near a military base once he'd left the Air Force; Michael thinks it's in part because Alex felt pushed to leave with an honorable discharge before he was ready, even though his final posting was almost through. Thankfully Kyle, who had been Alex's childhood friend, then high school bully, then best friend from a distance while Alex was serving overseas, was also a doctor. Alex was alone in a room waiting for Kyle to finish with another patient on a really hot day, with Michael slipping out to get them something to drink.

Michael had come back to find Alex clutching at his head and pacing, starting to talk incoherently about being too hot. The room was stifling, its radiator on full blast and its solitary window locked. A clanking, banging noise from the neighboring room undergoing renovation had been loud enough to make Michael startle, and between the heat and the noise, Alex was overwhelmed. Alex cowering in a corner until his leg gave out on him making him fall is one of Michael's nightmares, for Alex looking so afraid and being able to do nothing to help.

“They’re panic attacks, Alex," Kyle had said when he'd join them and examined him, asking simple questions as he did. "All the symptoms you’re presenting. They’re panic attacks.”

Michael had been almost relieved to hear it, for having a problem he could now look for solutions to, to try to fix. Alex, of course, had brushed that theory off. “I don't have _symptoms_. Nothing’s being _presented_,” he had grouched out, his voice dripping with disdain.

Kyle had pursed his lips sharing a look with Michael, turning his focus to checking Alex's leg without another word. Though he'd pulled Michael to one side when Alex had stormed out of the room when he’d finished, grabbing leaflets from a rack and pushing them into Michael's hands. "He could do with some help," he’d said, staring at Michael as though that would carry extra weight to his words. "I think it's obvious he's going to be stubborn about it. But we need to keep an eye on him, okay? All of us."

"I'm not having _panic attacks_," Alex had insisted when Michael had joined him in the truck, keeping his eyes on the windscreen and only taking Michael's hand after he'd nudged against his thigh twice. But in bed that night, curled around Michael as though there wasn’t enough skin that he could touch, Alex haltingly voiced his fears out loud.

“Am I losing it, Michael? Am I?”

Michael had slid his hands over Alex’s back, offering reassurance as best he could. “No. You're not. But maybe we can look into what these panic attacks mean." Though the leaflets he'd already read that day mentioned panic disorder and PTSD, as well as panic attacks. He wasn’t really sure what the differences were, and had vowed to research them when Alex was elsewhere. He also knew Alex wouldn’t welcome any new words on what was happening; _panic attacks_ sounded scary enough.

“Panic attacks?” Alex whined, nuzzling into Michael's neck. “No, Michael. How can I be having panic attacks, of all things, after all this time? What’s wrong with me?”

Michael pressed a kiss to Alex’s forehead, squeezing his arms around him. “Nothing is _wrong_ with you.”

“There has to be if this is happening,” Alex disagreed, wriggling his way in further to Michael's neck.

It is a conversation they have had multiple times since, laid in bed together when Alex can’t sleep, out driving, or anywhere at all. Michael knows the terminology now, the language he’s supposed to use to explain what is happening with Alex. Alex doesn’t want to hear it, and Michael is afraid to push; he’d rather be here for Alex, instead of Alex thinking he can’t talk openly to him for fear of being talked _at_.

Though they might have no choice in talking about this. Michael’s handprint is now proving ineffective, only serving to let Michael feel some of the panic Alex does. He would happily take the full burden at times when it is too much for Alex to handle if he could. Even just sensing what Alex is going through takes nothing from the horror in his eyes when it’s happening. This break away from everything by the beach is a last resort, Alex’s last attempt at trying to deal with things by himself. He’s promised Michael that if he is no _better_ by the time they return to Roswell, that he will speak to Kyle, to get some guidance on what help might be available.

Alex is so relaxed here—in between these attacks. He is sleeping for hours like he’s never done since Michael has known him, the two of them sprawling out in a nest of blankets and pillows either on the porch or couch. Alex, instead of working, is indulging in music, and reading, and anything else that is just for fun. He is growing more confident on the beach, even if when he walks for more than a few minutes he has to wear boots for better support. But his self-doubt is still there, putting a bitter tone to his words for himself, and a harshness for not recovering as quickly as he wants. His hours of sleep are partly because his nightmares are keeping them company so often. Alex’s frustration for never knowing what might set them off is making him cautious over so many things. Michael worries some mornings that he won’t even be able to coax him outside for some air. He wants to give Alex everything, including staying here at this beach house for as long as he needs. Though is Alex really healing at all here, or just treading water, not getting any better or worse?

“It’s okay, Alex,” he says, rubbing circles into his back where they’re sat on the couch as Alex once again tries to regain his breath. Michael has tried to think of everything that might set these attacks off for him, but this last one just proved they can seem to appear from nowhere.

Alex slumps back against the couch with his face a sickly green, clutching and kneading at his chest. Michael desperately wants to be able to get him to a doctor, though can already hear Alex’s protests against it before either of them say a word. “I’ll be okay in a minute.”

Michael bites back the frustration he feels, only resting his hand over Alex’s stomach hoping the weight and warmth of it might be enough to soothe. How long will they be here, before waiting isn’t a kindness anymore, and is only serving to do Alex more harm?

* * *

There is a small parcel on the dining table when Michael returns from stocking up on groceries. Alex is sat at the table toying with it, though when Michael looks he notices the parcel hasn't yet been opened.

Alex notices him passing with grocery bags looking up with such sleepy eyes Michael has the urge to dump the bags on the kitchen counter and drag Alex back to bed. Which he won't, for following Alex's logic that if he's exhausted for today, he might pass out and sleep through tonight. This is a discussion they have most mornings of late. Sometimes it even works.

Michael slides the bags down on the counter flexing his fingers for gripping on to them so tightly, always checking over his hand since Max fixed it. That he hadn't even told Max how it had happened for years caused friction early on in Michael and Alex's marriage, though it was less for the secret-keeping, and more that Max was hurt that Michael wouldn't ask for help.

Alex presses a kiss to Michael's shoulder blade as he joins him, silently helping Michael to slot their groceries away. "Do you want coffee? I just made some."

"That's why I got _these_," Michael says, waving the paper bag of muffins just out of Alex's reach in tease. Alex smiles for it, opening a cupboard to take out plates, then pouring them both mugs of coffee that he transfers over to the table, pushing the parcel to one side. Michael passes him the bag as he washes his hands watching Alex tear back the paper, lapping crumbs from his fingertips. "Who's the parcel from?"

"Looks like Isobel's writing."

"Don't wanna open it?"

"I wanted to wait for you."

Michael dries his hands, wrapping an arm around Alex's waist to squeeze before he sits, straightening up the parcel and tapping the label. "Well. Looks like it's addressed to you."

Alex sits, frowning at the parcel before pulling it back in front of him. He opens it like he's defusing a bomb, careful, nimble fingers plucking at the tape taking his time to unravel it. He reaches inside, pulling out a small stack of a mixture of envelopes and photos. Alex laughs for the menu from the Crashdown with Arturo's writing across the front of it reading _come home for dinner_, with Arturo putting stars next to everything that is Alex's personal favorite.

Alex reads letters from Liz, Kyle, Isobel, and to Michael's surprise, even Max. Alex passes him each in turn after reading, the contents of them making _Michael_ tear up. Especially Max, whose letter includes some clippings from articles on a couple of books he and Alex share a love of. Alex's face is stoic but Michael watches him swallow repeatedly, knowing he's trying not to cry.

Isobel has included several photos, some of which are of their cabin and captioned with _I broke nails watering your plants_. _You owe me a manicure_. Michael clears his throat when he chokes up for the photo Alex lays on the table pinching at the corners. It's of a birthday night for Alex last year, belated because of when his leave fell. Alex is in the crook of Michael's arm, with Max peering over Michael's shoulder, and Isobel behind Alex, angling a selfie stick to get them all in. Alex's gaze lingers over it a long while, long enough for Michael to want to ask what he's thinking. He doesn't, only taking the photo passed in silence so he can look for himself.

There is something kind of _charming_ about receiving handwritten letters. Michael thinks it's good for Alex to know their friends and family are respecting his space, while still showing him he is loved. Michael finds that he stores up bits of news from their small current existence to save for when they call home once a week. They don't have that much to share, but it feels important to share those details, so that everyone knows they are doing their best given the circumstances.

"No one came to visit yet without telling us," Alex points out as Michael looks over the photo again before returning it to him. The reason for which is Michael asking them not to; not after Alex had worked himself up into a frenzy thinking about someone seeing him after he'd… _panicked_. Michael doesn't know if he did the right thing, constantly questioning his decision-making every day.

"That's good, right?" is all he asks, however, for not wanting to worry Alex about anything.

"It is. I like our routine—or lack of one. I don't think I could deal with people showing up unannounced right now."

Michael watches Alex carefully stack the letters and photos back together, neatly putting them on the table corner. "Well. Whenever you're ready. There's no hurry here, for anything. You know that, right?"

"Your work's okay?"

Michael might only speak to Isobel once a week, but he leaves Alex for a few minutes each day to catch up on news from his yard. Everything seems to be doing just fine in his absence, the staff he took on great people who Michael trusts. He is lucky really, that his yard has a steady stream of work. It had taken a couple of years to really get it going, but Michael now wouldn't change what he does for anything. Especially when it affords him the time to support Alex like he's doing now.

"It's doing great. They barely need me," Michael says, peeling back the muffin paper.

"They do. You can't stay away forever."

"I'm staying here as long as you are," Michael counters immediately. Does Alex think he could leave him here alone?

Alex knows what he's thinking, squeezing his hand against the table before sliding his plate closer. "_We_ can't stay away forever."

"We also probably shouldn't rush back. Not before you're ready."

"I don't think I know what _ready_ looks like."

Is this a moment where Alex chooses to talk, or is he going to brush him off again if he tries? Michael isn't sure, taking his time to taste the muffin, the blueberries sweet on his tongue.

"Well. Gotta be honest, Alex; neither do I."

"There are things. Duties. Missions. Things I saw when serving, that I _can't_ talk about," Alex says, keeping his eyes on the plate as he toys with the crumbs in between bites. "So much of my work is—was—classified."

"Well. You wouldn't have to talk about stuff you couldn't," Michael replies, freezing when he realizes that his thoughts have gone directly to Alex having therapy. When Alex doesn't tense up or look at him in reproach, Michael knows relief for them being on the same page.

"I would for some. They would want to ask about my leg, and what happened."

"If you were on a mission where—"

"It's not really about the _mission_," Alex says, shaking his head as he interrupts. "It's about—there are people in my unit that I… we went through things together; so many things."

"It would be hard to relive that, right?" Michael says, thinking he understands.

"That's the problem," Alex says, his brow beginning to furrow. "The accident. I don't _remember_ anything."

Michael continues to eat his muffin in measures bites, to not show his surprise. "Nothing?"

Alex sighs, slumping back in his chair. "I remember yelling, and gunfire. I remember a blast off in the distance to my right, and a vehicle passing to the left. I remember _light_. And then I remember muffled voices that I can't make out, and then waking up in the hospital. That's _everything_. I've _tried_ remembering. I don't remember what happened to me at all. I know _what_ happened, approximately, from what the doctors told me, but that's… that's everything."

Michael considers his words before answering, trying to figure out what might really be in Alex's thoughts. "So, are you worried that by talking about it, you'll remember it more?"

"_Yes_."

Michael holds his hand out palm up for Alex to slot his fingers through, squeezing when he does. "Yeah. I can imagine that's… that's a hard thing to think about."

"It isn't just that," Alex says with a sharp snap of his head. "It's so many things."

"Like what?"

"Like, things I've obviously _repressed_ about growing up with my dad. Things I haven't stopped thinking about, like what he did to your hand. I'm at a place where I don't think about him much anymore, but if I've _started_ thinking about him now, with me being like _this_. What if I start to remember things I've purposefully shut out?"

Michael doesn't know what to say. He understands Alex; there are things from his experiences in the various group homes and foster cares he was in that he never wants to have to relive. Though something really needs to happen for Alex to have peace to his thoughts again. Neither of them really know what.

"I don't know how it works, Alex. I don't know if, if you choose to talk about this with someone, if they'll give you help on… I don't know? How to _not_ talk about stuff?"

Alex's face twists into a bitter, dark smile. "I have ample training on how _not_ to talk."

Michael doesn't like the images that puts in his head, taking a sip of his coffee to wash away the bitter taste flooding his mouth. "Well. Whatever we do, we start small, okay? We do one thing, or find something out, and we—whatever you need."

"You keep saying that," Alex says, flipping their hands over, trailing his fingers over the back of Michael's. "What about what _you_ need?"

"I need _you_ to be okay. That's it; that's everything I need."

"No, it isn't Michael—"

"It really is, Alex. I don't need anything more than what I've got. Having you _home_, not having to worry about you being I don't know where doing I don't wanna know what; I feel like I can breathe right for the first time in ten years. Everything else is just… small stuff."

They have a home, Michael has steady work, and so will Alex have when he's ready to work again. They have family, and friends, and an Airstream they can take weekends away in. Their life is small, but it's good; far better than Michael had let himself think he'd ever have when clinging on to Alex in tears the night before he'd left for his initial training.

"These muffins are great."

Once again Michael does his best not to react, not to show his frustration at Alex's abrupt change of subject. He squeezes his hand before pulling it back, scraping up the last crumbs from his plate.

"Yeah. They're great."

Alex's chair squeaks as he moves it around the table, putting Michael's heart in his throat for wincing when he knocks his leg against the table's. He shakes his head so Michael won't respond with concern, turning his face with a finger crooked beneath his chin. Alex kisses him sweetly, sighing as he drops his head against Michael's shoulder before taking their dishes to wash.

* * *

Michael wades out of the water and on to the beach, blowing the hair sticking to his face from his mouth and running his fingers through it. He falls on his back on the blanket next to Alex with a huff, grimacing as he tugs his wet swim shorts away from his equally wet skin.

Alex, who he'd left reading a book, looks him over with a lick of his lips and a heated expression that makes Michael ache with wanting him. Alex turns on his side supporting his head on his hand, resting his other on Michael's stomach and dipping his little finger beneath his swim short waistband. Alex _likes_ these swim shorts on him, having picked them out for Michael himself; short blue things that Michael would have bypassed altogether but is glad he didn't for the look on Alex's face. He likes Alex's shorts too; orange, similarly lengthed but sitting just beneath his hip bones, that Michael is powerless against reaching out and running his thumb over. He lifts his head up enough for a kiss, letting his legs fall open as Alex feels out the shape of him through his shorts before slipping his hand into them.

“This is nice,” Michael says, feeling Alex watching him from behind closed eyelids. Blissful twists of pleasure begin to shoot through him as he thickens in Alex's hand.

"Yes."

Today hadn't started out great. An especially bad nightmare left Alex screaming them both awake, with Michael half-pinning him to the bed to stop him injuring himself. They were both exhausted, and even with Michael being tolerant and patient with him as he always is, they were wound taut enough for snide comments to slip out, and disgruntled, half-meant mutterings to surface. So Alex had kissed apologies into Michael's neck, made them pancakes and bacon for a late breakfast, then packed a bag for the beach while Michael had been in the shower. That they've made it so far down the beach compared to the short distance Alex has only been comfortable with so far tells Michael he is _trying_; even if his efforts this morning are more to appease _him_.

Alex shifts closer, leaning forward to lap his tongue over Michael's nipple, grazing it gently between his teeth. Michael lifts his head to watch him, bringing his hand up to run the back of it in a lazy stroke across the front of Alex’s shorts, feeling Alex’s mouth curl into a smile against his skin as he does.

Alex changes his grip on him, giving this twist just beneath Michael's crown that has always made him arch for how good it feels. And since this beach is all but secluded, Michael has no hesitance in lifting up enough to pull his shorts down, kicking them away as they tangle around his ankle. His stomach ripples for being exposed letting his legs fall wide open again, slotting one hand behind his head so he can tilt it enough to watch Alex's hand on him.

"Better," Alex says, propping himself up more and watching with him, raising his leg so Michael has easier access to him as well.

Michael slips his hand into the waistband of Alex's short to push them down, letting Alex spring free. He takes his time to wrap his fingers around his length, smiling for Alex's soft intake of breath and beginning a leisurely stroke.

“Take them off altogether if you want,” Alex says.

Immediately Michael is rolling on to his knees, thrusting into Alex's hand when he reaches for him. Alex rolls on to his back for and lifts himself up, leaving Michael free to slowly tug down his shorts. The moment he is free of them Alex splays his legs, waving for Michael to crawl between them. Alex arches as Michael strokes his hands down his thighs, running his thumbs through the hair at the base of his cock.

"What do you need, Alex?" Michael croaks out, toying with his balls and running a thumb in a hard press between his cheeks.

"You. All of you. But your mouth…"

Michael needs no further invitation. He takes care not to kick sand everywhere as he shifts on their blanket, resting his hands on Alex's hips as he ducks to lap up the length of him. Getting comfortable, Michael pays particular attention to the spot just beneath his head that always makes Alex whimper, before sealing his lips around his crown to suck.

Alex groans, arching into his mouth, one hand through the back of Michael's curls as he encourages him. Michael bobs up and down his length humming around him, closing his eyes for the taste of Alex and the way he calls out his name. For those noises, Michael is convinced he could do this to him all day. Even if he gave himself jaw ache in the process.

Though since Alex seems to be enjoying how exposed they are, he laps over his length once more and presses a kiss to his tip, then moves lower as he thumbs him open. Alex's breath comes out in short sharp bursts in anticipation, a single, "_oh_," spilling from his lips as Michael laps over his hole. He presses his tongue flat against him, then presses his hands firmer against the crease of Alex's legs both to keep him open and in place as he eats him out. Alex is _loud_, whimpering and cursing and generally making his pleasure known to anyone who might hear if his voice catches on the wind.

"You okay there, Alex?" Michael teases as stops to catch his breath, pressing a kiss to the inside of Alex's thigh. Alex can't answer, only drops his head back with a groan, covering his eyes with his forearm. The moment Michael takes himself in hand for some relief and a gasp falls from _his_ mouth for it, Alex is looking up again, his eyes fixed on Michael's hand.

Michael strokes himself again, wiping the leaking precum off his own head and smearing it over Alex's hole, pressing his finger in as Alex gasps and tries to part his legs further. He works his fingers into him, crooking them inside at the perfect spot guaranteed to make Alex curl up and stutter for it.

Alex clasps on to the arm Michael is now propping himself up on, bracing against him as he stretches for the bag he'd brought down to the beach. Alex's ideas of beach essentials apparently involve his book, sunblock, water, and a bottle of lube, which he passes to Michael with a desperate, aching, "_please_," that goes straight to Michael's cock.

Michael gestures for Alex to hold his hand out too, pouring lube on to both of their palms. He takes Alex by the wrist, guiding his fingers until Alex wraps them around himself; a sight that Michael has to take a little time to appreciate before dropping his hand back between his cheeks. He slicks up his hole, pressing his fingers back into Alex in a lazy thrust that Alex tries to bear down on.

"Well, if you're in such a hurry," Michael teases, deliberately taking his time to withdraw his fingers before once against taking Alex by the wrist. Alex needs no second hint, working his fingers into himself and whining as he writhes down on his own hand.

Michael rests his hands on Alex's cheeks to keep him open, having to drop his grip to stroke himself over when the ache is too much to ignore. Though the sight of Alex _glistening_ with so much lube means he has to have him. Michael lines himself up, teasing them both by pressing his tip against his hole only enough to dip in, then filling Alex whole with a desperate, deep groan for the feel of it.

"_Better_," he groans into Alex's neck when he falls forward, bracing on one forearm over his head so he can kiss him, the other slipped down between them to keep Alex's leg splayed wide. He feels so _good_; all Michael wants to do is fuck him, to chase the pleasure building and feel Alex clench around him.

Alex has other ideas; slower ones. He strokes his hands over Michael's back, tilting his chin up to be kissed. "We have all day," he whispers when he nudges for Michael to look at him, running a thumb over his lower lip.

"I guess we do."

Michael adjusts his balance, spreading his weight better between his knees, focusing only on the feel of Alex squeezing around him, and the sound of waves crashing against the shore just feet from where they are laid.

* * *

Alex is sprawled on his back on the couch, completely engrossed in whatever it is he is reading. His toes keep nudging beneath the cushion of the armrest at the other end, his stump dangling off the couch. His face is contorting, going from wide-eyed and holding his breath one minute to slack with relief the next.

Michael has been watching this for about ten minutes now, completely engrossed himself, and unable to control the smile that must be spread wide across his face. He leans in the open doorway of the living room in silence, arms folded loosely across his chest. That Alex hasn't noticed him at all tells Michael just how good his book is, since Alex is so typically on alert.

Alex sighs then, glancing away from the book, resting it open on his stomach like he intends to think about whatever it is he's just read. He lifts his head in surprise, smiling at Michael where he's stood, waving his hand to beckon him forward.

“Are you okay?” Alex asks.

Michael pushes off from the door frame, not answering until he is leaning against the side of the couch. “Just enjoying the view,”

Alex laughs, holding on to the back of the couch to lean and push his book to the floor. Michael moves to sit on the armchair behind Alex's head, but Alex waves a hand to stop him, sitting up. "Lie with me?"

Michael holds out his hands to help Alex up, quickly lying down in his place and guiding Alex back down. Michael presses one foot to the floor as Alex adjusts and gets comfortable, curling his hand around the armrest behind his head. Alex sighs when he settles, hands loose on Michael's sides as he rests his head on his shoulder.

“Did you sleep a little?” Michael asks.

“Not much,” Alex admits with a soft sigh. “But then I never sleep well anymore, do I? Least of all when you’re not in bed with me.”

“I did offer.” Michael starts to say, stopped by Alex lifting up enough for a kiss.

“I know you did. But it’s important you have some time just for you too. You can’t always be helping the emotional cripple. And the physical one,” he adds with a cold, bitter laugh.

Ice trickles through Michael's veins. Ever since the accident, Alex has been nothing but brave, and if not positive, then at least not overly self-deprecating. He's never used language like _cripple_ before. Michael raises an eyebrow in question, not wanting to push things too far.

Alex rolls his eyes but nods. “Okay. Maybe I'm not _that_. But still.”

Michael kisses him hard, shaking his head. “No, Alex. Not at _all_.”

Alex groans, dropping his face into Michael's neck. Michael shifts as well, getting both arms around Alex. He might not want to push, but maybe he needs to do _something_ to help Alex talk.

“So. How are you, Alex?” Michael asks after debating several approaches, each sounding just as bad when he plays them out in his head.

Alex nuzzles into Michael's neck, breathing warm air against his skin. “I’m okay.” His voice is small, and it makes Michael ache for him. He gets a kiss to the top of his head, resting his lips there.

“Okay,” Michael replies, equally quiet.

“I didn’t dream,” Alex adds, his fingers toying with Michael's shirt buttons.

“No?”

“Nothing at all. Nothing bad, nothing good. Nothing.”

Michael says nothing, hoping the silence will give him room to talk. He knows it's worked when Alex first clears his throat, then snuggles closer.

“Sometimes when I close my eyes… sometimes... it’s like... it’s like I’m back there, you know?”

Michael doesn’t have to ask.

“It’s all... loud, and bright, and _painful_. And sometimes I'm alone, on this route in the desert with my leg just _gone_, and no one around. Other times I'm with the unit and we—I can't do anything to _help_ them. I keep watching them get hit, one by one. Like maybe I’m the one... I’m the one causing it all.”

Michael holds him tighter, kissing the top of his head. “None of this is your fault. You know that. I need you to know that."

The problem is, Alex _doesn't_. Despite doing all he can to aid his physical recovery, Alex has consistently refused any emotional help. It is the only thing he's been stubborn on, accepting help with every other thing he needs while he was recovering from his surgery, with little complaint. His refusal any time anything like _counseling_ or a therapist has been suggested Michael blames solely on Alex's father. Jesse Manes has so much to answer for, for the thoughts in Alex's head that sometimes makes Michael almost wish Jesse was still here, to give Alex the chance to confront him as an adult, instead of the scared seventeen-year-old who had been bullied into joining the Air Force.

“Sometimes... you know. The nightmares. They’re like... they’re like some... nightmare RPG, where I’m the main character, and I know what’s supposed to happen, and what needs to happen, and that... that I’ve just got to keep going. Even when it kills me,” Alex adds, sucking in a quick breath that sounds far too shaky for Michael's liking.

This is the most Alex has said about anything; about the accident, about his nightmares, about any of the things he doesn’t want to talk about. Michael really isn’t sure how best to respond.

“And then,” Alex says, haltingly, “there is this... bit, this… part. This fixed thing in the dream. I’m walking down this hall on a base. And I know, I _know_ what’s waiting for me. I know everyone else is gone, and that I have to get out. But I’m _scared_, Michael. I'm so scared in this dream. I can't think, I can’t keep myself from going, or stopping, or anything. And then I’m in this room... and you know... _he’s_ there... and...”

Alex lets out a choked sob, and Michael is pulling him that little bit closer, whispering soothing nothings into Alex wherever he can reach. _His_ heart is now racing for Alex's father being the thing to morph his memories and haunt his dreams. Michael has imagined Alex reliving what happened to his leg, or bombs dropping, or almost anything else at all. Jesse Manes has been dead for close to five years, after an incident in Iraq. It is _cruel_ that his abuse still sits so heavily in Alex's thoughts.

“It’s okay, Alex. You’re okay now. You’re okay,” he tells him, over and over, until it sounds like a chant even to his own ears.

“But I...” Alex’s voice trails away uncertainly, and Michael feels the full body trembling building in Alex, along with soft, uneven gasping. He needs to _move_, before the panic attack really sets in.

Michael moves them until Alex is straddling his lap, so he can just kneel off him and get away if he needs to. He slips his hand beneath Alex's shirt splaying his fingers wide, pressing yet another handprint into him. His other hand he grips on to Alex's thigh with to keep him steady, slowing his breathing as he keeps eye contact hoping it will help Alex's to calm. Michael can feel Alex's heart still racing against his chest, trying to smile in reassurance when he lifts his head.

"I love you," he says nodding in encouragement and ignoring the brightness in Alex's eyes, relieved when Alex's pulse begins to slow.

Alex mumbles his _I love you_s into Michael's shoulder as he topples forward again, gripping on to him tight. Michael runs his hands up and down his arms giving Alex all the time he needs. When he sits up this time, Alex's face is the picture of exasperation at himself.

“When will this _stop_, Michael?” Alex asks him brokenly, and Michael feels that ache again; the one that comes with not being able to fix things instantly for him. This isn’t something there would ever be a quick fix for anyway, he knows that. But it’s so hard to witness Alex suffering.

“When you're ready,” Michael tells him, because there is nothing else he can say.

“What if I’m never ready?”

“You will be. You just... you need to take care of yourself first. That's all this is.”

Alex sighs, leaning his forehead against Michael's. “But what if I can’t get _over_ this?”

“Then, we'll just find another way. To help. Or to work. Or to live. It doesn’t have to be the end of everything, Alex. You'll still be you.” Michael isn't sure if he's now talking about Alex's leg, or his thoughts. Probably both; for the look on Alex's face, Michael thinks it might take forever for him to believe him.

“I’ll be a version of me. I won’t be _me_, though, will I?"

“I don't have answers, Alex. I don't. I wish I did. But you have _me_. And you have our family, and you have our friends. Whatever we all need to do, to help you with this, we're doing it. You aren't alone, Alex. We'll figure this out."

Alex groans as he topples forward one more, wrapping his arms around Michael's shoulders.

* * *


	3. Chapter 3

The final straw for Alex had been the explosion at Caulfield. 

Early on in their relationship, as complicated as it had been for them being apart, Michael had told Alex the truth of his origin; as much as he could for not knowing all the details himself. Alex had been back from leave, tension in the air between them because it was a shorter visit than usual, and the two of them were still a secret. Michael has always hated secrets, though at the time, the secret of his relationship with Alex had eaten away at him more than any other. They had been at a function for veterans after arriving separately when everything came to a head, for Alex hearing rumors of Michael sleeping with half of Roswell. His jealousy had wounded Michael; for not trusting him, for not loving him enough to be out in the open with him. Michael’s arguments had fallen to the wayside for Alex breaking down, telling Michael he feared his dad still being able to get to them, to cause either of them more harm. 

Michael’s hand, still at that point crushed from the hammer Jesse had smashed it with, was evidence of that harm, but the damage went far deeper into Alex. He still bore the scars of his father’s abuse, though it was the emotional toil which had dug in and lingered. Michael and Alex had sped away from the function back to the Airstream, cried as they held one another, then reaffirmed their love on a blanket out under the stars. 

After Alex's honesty about why he wanted them to be a secret, Michael had felt the need to be honest with him—about himself; there was no way he would willingly out Max and Isobel, and was almost horrified that Alex had guessed about them so quickly. Though Alex hadn’t backed away for his news, or treated him any different, still loving Michael just as much as always. He’d begun asking more questions, and since that moment they have been nothing but open and honest with one another, about every single thing that they can.

Project Shepherd became a slight thorn in their side when Jesse had been killed not long after their wedding. Alex had unearthed paperwork in his father’s house that led him to a secret bunker revealing an alien conspiracy, that gave Michael more details of his origin than he’d ever had. They had quickly hidden the news from Alex’s brothers, for fear of them wanting to carry on their father’s legacy. 

Caulfield had been a place on their horizon for a couple of years, the name coming up repeatedly with nothing to connect any details to. Kyle and Alex had found the old hospital about four months after Alex got back after his leg. Alex had been insistent on visiting it, needing to know what was out there—and to keep busy. They’d learned of Jesse’s involvement in Jim Valenti’s death, and of Jesse’s corruption and blackmail of so many people. Jesse had been terrorizing not only his own family, but many of the people he served with as well.

Michael will always remember what was waiting for them at Caulfield. Cell upon cell of aliens, just like him, kept in captivity and tested on since their ship crashed. Michael’s confusion for feeling attached to them all because they were his people, anger at wanting revenge, and need to protect Alex, all came to a head when sensors tripped announcing their presence. A warning klaxon had sounded out in the building announcing a countdown to a bomb detonation, and all Michael could think of was getting Alex out. 

One explosion went off prematurely, shaking the foundations of the building and sending them crashing to the floor. Alex’s eyes were filled with panic as he’d rolled over looking dazed, as though he couldn’t see where he was at all. Further explosions followed, and any thought they might have had for rescuing the imprisoned aliens were replaced by survival instincts to get themselves out. Alex was in no state to help himself, screaming, and yelling, to Michael’s mind reliving whatever had happened to his leg. 

They had crawled their way from the building, made it back to Michael’s truck before the final explosions blasted desert sand into the sky, crushing the building to dust. There was nothing left; whatever was behind that detonation was meant to get rid of all evidence that a building ever stood. Michael hadn’t had a lot of time to think about it, for Alex being inconsolable and impossible to calm. They’d taken a detour to the hospital, where Kyle had given Alex an anti-anxiety drug. Michael had carried him from the truck to the cabin for Alex finally falling asleep.

Michael had been frightened to leave him alone. He’d scaled back his hours at work to the bare minimum giving his staff more to do in his place, and in the hours he was gone from the cabin, Alex had a steady stream of visitors. Max, Isobel, Liz, Kyle; each of them arrived without fanfare or commentary, making sure Alex had everything he needed without even having to ask. 

After three days of Alex listlessly sitting around, breaking down crying for what seemed like no apparent reason, and sleepless nights that kept them awake, Michael had frantically called Kyle again, frightened for Alex and desperate to know what to do. Kyle had been the one to suggest a break when his other suggestion of therapy and medication threw Alex into a fit like Michael had never seen before. Isobel had come up with the beach house in just a couple of hours, and they’d set off the morning after. 

When Alex thrashes in his sleep, and he looks so frightened when he can't catch his breath, _Caulfield_ exploding is one of the things Michael pictures him imagining. It's easier in a way, for him being there right beside Alex when it happened. Trying to visualize what Alex saw out in his war is harder, and is the thing that used to give _Michael_ nightmares. Either way, to wake to Alex crying out in terror again still breaks Michael's heart. There has to be _something_ he can do to help him.

Alex burrows into his arms, cursing at himself for being weak, not hearing any of the words Michael tries to comfort him with. He holds him close, rubbing soothing circles into his back, listening to his breathing even out as Alex falls back to sleep. There will be no sleep for _him_, but Michael is getting used to that feeling, lying awake worrying over how little he can do to help.

* * *

Michael remembers the first time he fixed a car. It was almost an accident, really, sneaking into a scrapyard for somewhere to stay for the night when he'd been about fifteen, trying to start the engine trying to keep warm. The engine had stuttered when he turned the key, enough to show him there was gas in the tank but no hope of making it do anything. With nothing to lose and nowhere else to be, he'd popped the hood of the trunk, starting to puzzle it over. He'd always been good at solving things like that; having all the pieces and working where they fit, what needed replacing. In under half an hour he'd got it working, giving him at least a little heat in the car that he could fall asleep to before the cold desert air really set in.

Ever since then, Michael has been fascinated with fixing vehicles. Max tells him he's crazy, for completing his scholarship at UNM then coming back to Roswell just to fix cars. But it suits him; for all those thoughts he'd once had of engineering, or something _bigger_, Michael's life is small—in the best ways. He has his own business, he has a husband, friends, and family; he has everything he needs. His life doesn't have to be grander than that.

He also has an ear for engine trouble, or squeaking wheels that will lead to bigger problems, or in fact anything that points to a car not being _right_. So as he leaves the grocery store of their small beachside town with his arms full of groceries, Michael can't help hearing the clanking noise from the car just pulling in to park. 

The man climbing out is wearing a hearing aid, so he probably hasn't heard it. Michael puts him at 70, or maybe 80, this well-toned, white-haired man wearing a red and blue plaid shirt over a plain black t-shirt and stonewashed jeans. He is humming as he passes Michael, and Michael could keep walking; his bags are heavy, and after last night he doesn't want to leave Alex alone for too long. But his conscience won't let him. Michael grits his teeth and adjusts his grip on the bags, turning back around.

"Excuse me," he calls, then remembers the hearing aid and quickens his pace to catch up with him. "Hey. Sorry; I think your car needs looking at."

The man's eyebrows _twitch_ as he looks him over, taking in the bags he's holding on to before looking at the car, and back to Michael. "My car?"

"I heard a noise; think you've got something loose in there. I can take a look, if you'd like?"

The man looks at him again, once more to the car as though debating with himself. Michael is just about to apologize and be on his way when the man clasps his arm. "Well. Something felt off when I was driving. I kept meaning to take a look."

Michael lowers the bags to the ground beside the car as the man pops the hood, seeing the loose connection right away and fixing it in seconds. "This part is cracked," he says, gesturing at the seal. "It'll come off again, work loose, but this should do you for a good few miles."

"Simple as that?"

"Try the engine."

The engine purrs perfectly when it starts, no knocks, bangs, or any other strange noises, leaving Michael satisfied. He picks up his bags without another word ready to be on his way, when the man is out the car and clasping him on the arm again.

"Thank you. You need a ride some place? Rich," the man adds, offering a hand to shake then waving it for Michael's arms being full.

"Uh no. No, it's okay. I'm about ten minutes in that direction," Michael says, nodding up the street towards the turning that will take him to the beach house.

"Are you the couple up at Agatha's house?" Rich asks. "The one right on the front?"

Michael doesn't remember the owner's name. "I think so?"

"It'll take two minutes. Hop in."

The car door is already open; Michael feels it would be rude to refuse. So he climbs in, thanking Rich in a mumble when he closes the door behind him for his arms still being filled with bags. 

"You here on an extended vacation?"

"Something like that." Michael doesn't want to go into details.

"It's the perfect place. Quiet. Small. Almost always good weather. Folk ain't too nosy, either," Rich adds with a smirk that puts Michael at ease. Not enough to tell him anything, of course.

"Yeah. It's great. We like it."

"You and your…?"

"Husband," Michael blurts out. He tells his stomach not to clench in anticipation of any unfavorable reaction, relieved when Rich only nods.

"He a vet?"

How do you know that if no one is _nosy_, Michael wants to ask, though only wills the car to drive faster. "Yeah."

"How many tours?"

"Three."

"I only made it two," Rich tells him as he pulls up in front of the house, shutting the engine off. "Wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy. Never mind someone I cared about."

"Uh, no. No, me neither," Michael says, for not knowing what else to. 

"Well," Rich says then, turning in his seat to smile. "Thank you for taking a look at my engine."

"You'll still need to get—"

"I'll get it done. Honest. In fact, when I've been to the store myself, I'll go get the part."

"Okay."

"I own the hardware place on the corner," Rich adds, waving back down the street they've just driven. "You need anything, you give me a yell. Okay…?"

"Michael," he says, belatedly realizing he hasn't given his name. He waits outside the house for Rich to turn the car around, glad that when he drives away, that clanking noise is still gone.

* * *

“This board’s a little creaky,” Alex says, poking at the corner of a piece of decking next to Michael's thigh. The beach house is beautiful, and sturdy, yet the salt of the sea air is slowly taking its toll, Michael itching to do so many repairs around the place that he's not sure would be welcome. Not that he wants to be thinking about anything like that just now. 

“_Alex_,” Michael protests, helping Alex straddle his lap as he presses his knees into the pillows and blankets they've laid down. Now is neither the time nor the place to be discussing such things—or talking about _anything_ at all.

Alex kisses a smile to Michael's lips, reaches behind to hold himself open, and lowers himself slowly on to Michael's waiting cock with a low moan. “The floorboard is just _fine_,” he amends in a whisper, wrapping an arm around Michael's shoulders and clasping on to the railing posts for support. Michael savors the feel of Alex clenching around him, wrapping his hands wide on his waist as Alex begins to move. 

Alex _loves_ these railings; they've given him a new sense of control. Michael hadn't translated how Alex had taken to preferring riding him on their couch into him needing something sturdy to grip on to; not until they'd arrived here. But now he knows, he'll be changing their headboard just as soon as they get home. He wants to give Alex everything he needs; especially if it means he gets to see and feel him like _this_.

Beautiful as always, Alex is at his most sensual when he's in Michael's lap. His movements are fluid, knowing Michael's body so well he can draw out his pleasure and make him gasp with only the tiniest angle change or stir of his hips. Though it's the way he chases his _own_ pleasure that makes Michael's heart pound, every groan that falls from his mouth or gasp that he chokes off by biting down on his own lip, or the way he throws his head back as he cries out. And when he watches him back, Alex's eyes fixed on Michael's so he can _see_ the pleasure building in him, is when Michael loses all control. He digs his fingers into Alex's waist as he presses his feet into the decking and lies back, fucking him with short, sharp thrusts that Alex's gasps for every one of while still keeping eye contact. The slap of their skin together is indecent and loud against the backdrop of the rolling waves, making Michael want to chase even more.

Michael makes himself stop, giving one hard thrust before altering his grip on Alex, carefully sitting up and kissing away Alex's answering whine. 

"So _good_, Alex…"

Alex curls his fingers through Michael's hair, whimpering kisses against his lips as he rides him slower. His eyes flutter closed as he grinds down on him, circling his hips with a soft groan. Michael smiles as he rocks back and forth chasing the same spot, knocking his top lip against Alex's. 

"Come here," Michael whispers, encouraging Alex to kneel up and slip off him. Michael immediately slides his fingers into Alex's ass already massaging the small circle over his prostate he knows Alex likes. Alex shudders for it, writhing down on his fingers, cursing and then calling out his name as Michael ducks to lap over his cock. He takes him in his mouth, first sliding down his length in time with the way he's massaging him inside, and then guiding Alex to fuck his mouth.

"_Fuck_," Alex blasts out, adjusting his knees further apart giving Michael a better angle to get his fingers into him. Alex changes his grip on the railings, and Michael can feel the tension in him for not wanting to go too hard. Michael takes himself in hand, knowing neither of them will last much longer, laughing when Alex lets out a choked off whine, tugging on his hair as he cries out, "I _can't_."

Michael gives him one final suck and a kiss to his tip, groaning when Alex grips his wrist to pull his fingers from him. Michael guides him back on to his cock as Alex adjusts his hands again, one digging into Michael's shoulder as the other makes the railings creek as he grips them in support. Michael splays his fingers over Alex's thigh as he takes him in hand in a loose grip giving him something to fuck up into. He can do little else for the tight pressured heat building in him stealing all of his thoughts, for how good Alex feels. 

Michael comes seconds later with a shudder, a wave of pleasure rippling through him that almost unseats Alex, who just whines for it and writhes down on him even harder. Michael runs his hand over Alex's length, smiling when he bats it away and knowing from the change in Alex's breath what he's about to do. If he wasn't already so sated, Michael is convinced he'd be hard again in seconds.

Alex locks eyes with him, his lips parted as he gasps, looking down at himself only once before demanding Michael's gaze again. He lets out a voiceless grunt, his body going rigid as he comes untouched, slumping back exhausted and letting Michael hold him up. He is boneless in his embrace, giving Michael a tired smile when the last wave of his orgasm shudders through him.

"You still worried about that board, Alex?" Michael teases getting a kiss to Alex's throat, smiling there when he laughs.

"Not right now."

* * *

Michael wakes to an empty bed. He doesn't realize it at first, for being so exhausted after three difficult nights when neither of them has slept more than a couple of hours. He presses his face into the pillow, the chill to his shoulder telling him Alex has stolen the covers from him in the night. Michael smiles for it, because for as much as he loves when Alex snuggles up to _him_ to keep warm, Alex always looks so cozy when he's wrapped up in a blanket burrito. If it wasn't dark Michael would roll over now with his phone in hand, ready to take a photo of him looking so snug. 

It is when Michael reaches behind him that he notices he is alone. He rolls over, expecting to hear Alex making his way back from the bathroom. When he doesn't, Michael sits up, for now imagining he must be in the kitchen getting a drink. He yawns and stretches, rubbing his sleep-deprived eyes unable to resist checking that Alex is okay. Though he does make himself wait just a little longer for not wanting Alex to think he is _fussing_. When he still doesn't hear him returning Michael puts on his boxers and a sweater, making his way through the house in the dark wondering if Alex has fallen asleep on the couch.

Alex isn't in the bathroom. Michael quickly uses it still straining his ear for him, starting to feel uneasy when he isn't in the kitchen either. The house is only so big; he can't have gone far. Though as Michael walks from room to room, open doors to storage cupboards and the second bedroom that has only had a cursory glance over since they got here, his heart begins to race. 

"Alex?" he calls out which is pointless for having looked everywhere. He opens the front door wondering if Alex might be in the truck, even if he doesn't see why he would be. But where else would he go? Michael's stomach drops when, too late, he remembers the beach.

Michael can't get the door open for his hands trembling, trying not to picture Alex out on the beach somewhere alone. What if he's slipped? What if his leg has started hurting him and he's stopped to wait it out, stranding himself somewhere up the shore? Michael curses when he gets the door open, his eyes already scanning the beach as he steps out, jumping out of his skin on finding Alex on the decking floor.

_In_ the decking floor.

"Alex?"

Alex won't look up. In the moonlight, it looks as though he has fallen asleep across his folded arms. Though then Michael hears him sniffling, which is the thing to really make his heart pound.

"I told you the board was loose…"

_Shit_. Michael drops to his knees, wincing when he puts a hand on Alex's shoulder for how cold it is. How long has he been out there?

"What happened?" he asks, which is another pointless thing to say. The strain in Alex's arms looks painful, though the hole he's made falling through clearly isn't wide enough for him to drop down. Michael tries to get his hands under Alex's arms to haul him up, but Alex just shakes his head, refusing to look at him.

"Couldn't sleep. I didn't want to wake you—"

"_Alex_—"

"So I thought I'd come out here. Watch the waves for a while. My foot went right through."

Michael doesn't see his stick anywhere. He flinches for the thought of Alex hobbling out here with no support, getting used to his missing limb, and _this_ happening. He can't leave him like this, no matter how much he protests. "I'm pulling you up, okay?"

"I think I'm tangled in something. And I think I cut my leg. My _good_ leg," Alex adds, his voice beginning to tremble. He must be terrified, Michael thinks, his head breaking.

"Okay. I'm gonna take a look underneath, okay, Alex?" Michael says, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. He jogs down the few steps on to the beach, cursing for not having enough light to see under the decking. He runs back up, bending to rest a hand on Alex's shoulder. "I'm just getting a flashlight, okay?"

Michael rushes back inside, grabbing a blanket from the couch first to take outside and throw over Alex's shoulders, then runs back in trying to make himself _think_ where a flashlight might be. He finds one in a kitchen cupboard though its batteries are out, instead grabbing his phone from where it's been charging, and running back out with that instead.

Alex's stump is at an awkward angle pressed against one of the beams, and Michael can't easily see where his foot is. He rives a panel free promising both them and the homeowner that he'll repair it tomorrow, then pulls off another to get a better look. Alex can't move for his foot hooking around a post, the angle a beam has fallen against it trapping him in.

"Okay. I'll just be a minute, Alex," Michael promises, quickly assessing what to touch so it doesn't do any further damage to his leg. He gets it free, hearing Alex's frustrated crying as he crawls back out. Alex is trying to push himself up from the decking, his upper body strength next to zero for being so cold and tired. Michael tugs him free, collapsing on to the decking cradling him in his arms. "You're okay."

Alex shivers against him, clinging on Michael where they're sat. Michael snags the blanket to pull around him, giving Alex a moment to calm before they move. When Alex doesn't protest about him picking him up it sets off further alarm bells for Michael, who carries him through and lowers him to the couch, wanting to check his legs. Both of them blink as he switches on the lights, Michael wincing for the scratches and gashes up Alex's leg. There isn't a mark on his foot when Michael checks which seems unbelievable considering what happened. Michael swaddles him in blankets putting water on to boil as he rummages through the cupboards for a first aid kid.

"Okay, Alex, I'm guessing this will sting," Michael says, and for the first time in a long time desperately wishes he had some acetone to hand to drink. He is as gentle as he can be cleaning out the scratches, one that he thinks is too deep to leave uncovered he finds the biggest band-aids he can for and does his best to cover it. Alex watches him through the entire process in silence. Michael tries not to panic for it. 

"Okay. Hot chocolate. Don't have anything to put in it; maybe we should pick something up tomorrow."

Alex doesn't answer. Michael is making it anyway, wanting to warm Alex up. It frightens him that Alex doesn't look up; not as he leaves him to go to the kitchen, nor when he rejoins him on the couch. He's _shaking_; is he even going to be able to hold the mug?

"Here. You okay with this?" Michael asks after lowering one of the mugs to the floor and turning the other so the handle is free. Alex's hands sneak out from beneath his blanket to wrap around it, resting the mug against his lap. Michael watches until satisfied it won't spill before picking up his own, the chocolate scalding hot when he takes a sip. 

He wants to talk to him. He wants to ask Alex how he is. He has no idea how long he must have been out there, trapped, or what horrors must have gone through his head. But for the way Alex still has his head bent refusing to look up, Michael doesn't know how to ask. So in silence, they drink their hot chocolate, Michael quickly taking Alex's mug when he's finished when he tries to lower it to the floor. He needs the few seconds it will take him to get to the kitchen and back to compose himself. He _has_ to talk to him.

"So. Are you warm enough?" he says, wanting something fairly innocuous to start with.

"Yes."

"Well, good."

"Thank you," Alex says then, slowly lifting his head, the lost look on his face tugging on Michael's heart. 

"Don't need to thank me, Alex."

"I do," Alex argues, though it's quite, and scratchy. "I would have been out there all night if you hadn't… if you hadn't…"

It is the most gutwrenching thing in the world to see the way Alex's face crumples as he begins to cry, more inconsolable than Michael thinks he's ever seen him. He tries to get closer, perching on the edge of the couch as Alex clings to him, sobbing his heart out. No matter how many times Michael tells him he's okay, he knows Alex doesn't believe him. 

When Alex's leg starts to cramp Alex's wails are so mournful, Michael has to fight back tears himself. He pulls back the blanket taking care to keep him warm, massaging over his stump as he's learned to do over the past couple of months. Alex continues to cry, and in his head Michael starts wondering how close the nearest hospital or urgent care might be from here. Not that he thinks he'll have an easy time getting Alex there even if there is one. Though by the time Alex's tears have given way to dry hiccups, Michael knows he isn't in a state to be taken anywhere. Wordlessly, he helps Alex to the bathroom, waiting right outside the door when he goes to give him privacy and Alex frantically pulls him back. Alex leans on him as they make their way back to bed, Michael tucking up behind Alex and holding him tight, kissing the back of his hair, and in minutes, falling asleep.

* * *

Alex doesn't want to be alone. Michael doesn't like the way that he's limping, favoring his right leg to keep the pressure off the scrapes on his left. Though his stump is smarting a little for the angle it was at for so long, and then cramping so much. Michael lets him grip his hand as hard as he wants walking slowly so Alex isn't struggling to keep up. It is ten minutes to the hardware store, and at this pace, Michael thinks it might take twenty, though he keeps up a string of nonsense conversation hoping to put Alex at ease. He has all the details he thinks he needs for rebuilding the porch, and just hopes that if _Rich_ doesn't have what he needs, he'll know how to get it. By the time they get to the store Alex is sweating, and limping, and looking more uncomfortable than Michael thinks he's ever seen.

"Hey. How about we go to that cafe over there? Pretty sure I saw some brownies in there you'll love?"

Alex shows no objection, which is even _worse_. Michael gets him set up in a corner trying not to fuss for the huff of relief Alex lets out when he's finally sat. The hardware store is practically opposite, and for the possibilities inside, of having something he can actually fix, Michael knows relief for walking in.

Rich is at the counter, recognizing him immediately. "Michael." Michael takes the offered hand to shake, nodding in greeting. "What can I do for you?"

"I'm hoping you can either supply, or point me in the direction of some wood."

"What kind of wood?"

Michael explains the details of the decking, and because he can't stop the words tumbling out, tells him about Alex's leg. He feels awful for it, sharing details that are not really his to share. Though he can't deny the weight off his shoulders for doing so, knowing further relief when Rich is nothing but sympathetic.

"Well. Lucky for you, I'm pretty sure you can get what you need right here. If you're up for it, there might even be some scrap out the back if you feel up to cutting it up yourself. Might be a couple hour's work, but if you want it, it's yours. I won't charge."

"I can't ask—"

"And you didn't," Rich replies, shrugging. "It was gifted to me. I can't do nothing with it. Might as well be put to good use. Plenty of space out back for you to work on it."

He could do it now. Michael is hit with the urge to do something practical, so used to working with his hands. Though he can't right now, not with Alex sat across the street. Will he want to be here with him while he works? Michael doesn't have a clue.

Rich sees that he's torn, and again Michael finds himself explaining, trying not to say too much. "Well. The wood's not going anywhere. Come back this afternoon, or tomorrow; whenever you're ready. I guess there's other ways to access the beach if you want to in the meantime."

The beach. Michael hasn't even glanced in its direction today, he and Alex waking late and groggy, not in the mood for much of anything at all. Though he smiles and nods as though he really is anxious to be back out there, collecting the tools and odds and ends he'll need and loading them on the counter.

"Don't look like you've been sleeping much, Michael," Rich says as he rings the purchases up. He's not wrong, and Michael isn't too fussed by his appearance but if the exhaustion is showing on his face, he can only imagine how Alex must look to others. His need to be back with Alex wraps around his heart making it flutter. 

"No. Not too much."

"How do you like tea?"

Michael opens then closes his mouth again for the unexpected question, watching Rich turn and tap a shelf on the back wall. "Uh. I like it some? Alex more; lemon tea, mainly. Some herbal. We both drink more coffee, honestly."

"Well. It don't taste of lemon," Rich says, looking along his shelf and selecting a packet Michael can't read the label of, and then a second. "But this here is lemon balm. And chamomile. You mix up these two in a teapot or something with a strainer about an hour, or half an hour before sleep, you'll go right off. And if you don't like the taste, there's some new fresh honey in at the general store. Couple of spoons of that in this, you'll both be sleeping like a baby."

Michael eyes the tea in suspicion, not wanting to be ungrateful, but also not convinced it will help.

"It's either that, or valerian. Personally, I don't like the taste. Makes me think I'm drinking tea tree oil; unless that's your thing?" Rich turns back for another small packet adding it to the pile.

"Sure. I'll give it a go," Michael says going to pull more money from his wallet that gets waved away. He thinks he's seen an old chipped blue teapot in the cupboard when looking for additional plates when Alex's appetite meant he couldn't finish his dinner.

"I tell you what. You convince that husband of yours to come over here, and I'll see if I can convince him to try this tea. That way he can't blame you if he thinks it tastes bad. We can trade stories. One vet to another."

Micheal would love for Alex to have someone else to talk to; especially someone who can understand some of the things he's been through that _he_ can't. But this isn't his call, and Alex has so far avoided talking with just about anyone. He's barely been out of the house since they got here. There is no way he's going to try to talk him into something like this.

Michael goes to say thank you, to give reasons why it wouldn't be a good idea, only for Alex to walk through the door of the store looking troubled. Michael goes to him immediately, relieved when he sees him smile in reassurance.

"You okay?" he asks anyway, as Alex takes his hand.

"It was a little loud in there," Alex replies, nodding back towards the cafe. 

"Loud?"

"Ah, hell. Yeah, it would be. They have a knitting thing every Wednesday afternoon. I don't want to say our ladies here are loud, but they sure like to talk. Worst thing if you got a headache," Rich adds, waving them both forward. 

Michael squeezes Alex's hand in reassurance, keeping hold of him as he makes introductions. He pleads with Rich silently not to out him to Alex for the things they've already discussed that involve him.

"So. Michael here tells me something about needing a project to keep his hands busy. Gonna use up some scrap wood I got out back. A lot quieter than clacking needles and idle gossip, if you ask me."

"Uh. Yes," Alex agrees, with an eyebrow raise so slight only Michael would really notice it.

"Tell you what. You go check out this wood, Michael, and I'll make us a drink. Go on," Rich insists, all but shooing Michael out the back door, leaving Michael to worry how Alex will feel about being left alone with someone he doesn't even know yet. He makes quick work of looking the scrap wood over, realizing it's perfect for what he wants. Michael makes a few notes, putting a rough plan together, writing down what he needs. 

To his surprise when he returns, Alex is sat on a high stool at the counter and smiling, listening as Rich talks. When Michael steps behind him Alex only leans comfortably back against his chest, fingers curled around a teacup and a half-eaten cookie on a plate in front of him.

"You doing okay?" Michael asks, squeezing his waist as he kisses him on the shoulder. 

"Did you know Rich here is an old codebreaker?" Alex says without missing a beat sounding thoroughly delighted. Michael aches for the ease in his smile, and the interest in his voice, giving him a quick hug from behind.

"That mean I'm gonna lose you to all your... whatever you call your things?"

"You mean talking?" Alex teases, his eyes crinkling in amusement.

"Yeah. That."

"Well unless you need us to come keep an eye on you, maybe we can just sit right here and chat," Rich says, gesturing for Michael to help himself to whatever he needs. Not a moment since stepping into this store has gone anything like Michael planned, but for hearing Alex's easy conversation and soft laughter, he can't do anything but smile. Michael grabs the tools he needs keeping his ear strained to hear them talking, then makes his way back out to the yard.

* * *


	4. Chapter 4

"You're quiet," Michael says as they wash the dishes after dinner, Alex's brow furrowed in thought. In fact he's been quiet ever since they got back from lunch. Was it too much too soon for Alex to be around people he doesn't know for so long? It's been a _busy_ couple of days for Alex compared with what he's been used to since arriving here. Which makes him sound so _fragile_, and Alex is anything but. Though he deserves the time to figure things out for himself, and if that means a little isolation until he does, then Michael will continue to support him as long as he wants it. Michael has been toeing the line all afternoon while monitoring his mood and not knowing what to say. He can't bear the quiet any longer. 

Alex turns his gaze to him slowly, like he's still in the middle of another thought. His expression softens the moment his eyes land on Michael's, his lips curving up into a rueful smile. "Sorry," he says, dropping the dishtowel in his hands and leaning in to kiss him. 

"Don't be sorry. You're okay though, right?"

Alex sighs, tossing the towel to the side and draping his arms over Michael's shoulders, pressing against him. "I'm good. Really."

"Then what's been happening in here all day, huh?" Michael asks with a kiss to his forehead that Alex goes cross-eyed for, for trying to watch.

"I was just thinking that it was… _nice_. Today—and yesterday. How Rich, and Molly, and…. I forget other names—"

"I don't remember them either," Michael says, for thinking of Rich, his daughter Molly, and their extended family. Maybe there was a Carl in there, and an Anna, but he can't be sure.

"But it was nice that they invited us."

It's taken Michael the best part of three days to strip down the wood in the back of Rich's store into pieces good enough for the decking. He's belatedly put a call in to Agatha since it is her property they're needing to repair. Agatha was nothing but apologetic and grateful, her concern for Alex putting her high on Michael's favorite people list today. She's even transferred money to Rich for the cost of the tools and treatment Michael will need to get the decking back up. 

While he's been working on the wood, Alex has been in the store with Rich. His daughter, Molly, came in yesterday lunchtime demanding that they all ate lunch together, and did the same today. She has a quiet no nonsense tone about her that immediately seemed to draw Alex in. When Michael mentioned getting back to Rich's store to continue with cutting the wood, Molly had insisted Alex stay to chat, and help her clean up. Alex's smile for being treated so _normally_, when almost everyone around him is guilty of wanting to help a little too much, was beautiful to Michael. He'd claimed a kiss in parting, with Molly assuring him she'd come back to the store with Alex when they were done. 

Michael doesn't know all they've talked about, but he'd seemed lighter for it yesterday. So his concern now is that something has been said to dull his mood again. Though apparently not for the way Alex is currently smiling. Michael wraps his arms around his waist to draw him closer, relieved to see him looking so happy.

"Yeah, Alex. It was nice they invited us."

"She has some _interesting _ideas about aliens," Alex adds, his eyes crinkling as he smiles.

Michael closes the cupboard nearest to him with his thoughts, hanging Alex's dishtowel over its hooking without moving. "Oh yeah?"

"Yes."

"Like what?"

"Well. That you're all silicon-based instead of carbon. That you all speak with your minds instead of your mouths. And that the reason you don't actually come here is because you think humanity is some kind of garbage species ruining its natural resources for _fun_. And greed."

"Well. I don't know about speaking with my mind, but I don't need my mouth for _talking_, right?"

Alex hums as he angles his head away for Michel's kisses up his neck, slipping his hands into the pockets of Michael's jeans. Michael hooks his thumbs beneath the back of Alex's t-shirt pushing it up and splaying his hands there, revelling in the feel of him. They're both full from dinner, and Michael's shoulders ache from working on all that wood, but that doesn't do anything to stop him _wanting_ Alex like he constantly does.

From the way Alex is kneading his ass through his pockets the feeling is mutual. Michael mouths a little firmer behind his ear smiling against his throat for the way Alex swallows. Alex presses against him firm then pulls back, feeling out the shape of him through his jeans.

"Uh… Alex?"

"If you're complaining about the possibility of indigestion—"

"I'm really not thinking about _that_."

"Or that there are probably some things we probably shouldn't be doing for all we just ate," Alex continues, and because he is a tease, slides a hand back over Michael's ass and presses between his cheeks. 

"Well…"

"There are still plenty of things I want to do to you."

What is Michael supposed to say, when Alex is already unbuttoning his jeans, reaching in to his boxers and starting to stroke? And then tugging them down to mid-thigh without ceremony or warning? Michael's words get stuck in his throat for the feel of it, though he does let out a laugh when Alex yanks his shirt over his head without warning, before taking off his own. He also isn't expecting to be hoisting on to a kitchen counter that is still wet from drying their dishes, digging his fingers into Alex's shoulders when he slips. Alex snorts laugher into his forearm for how Michael lands, helping him right himself. 

"Hand."

Michael _jolts _for the command in Alex's voice and his nod towards his cock, wrapping his fingers around his length without a second thought. He grips tight to the counter edge as Alex pulls off his jeans and boxers, pressing his bare feet to the cabinets when Alex splays his knees wide. Alex's eyes are on his hand with a kind of intensity that makes Michael's stomach ripple, and when Alex presses his thighs apart Michael lets out an involuntary gasp for it. Which is probably dramatic, but for the way Alex suddenly knocks his hand away and takes him in his mouth, Michael thinks he's allowed to react however he wants.

Alex's mouth is perfect, hot and wet with a clever flick of tongue in all the best places, leaving Michael thunking his head back against a wall and letting his eyes fall closed. He parts his legs more in invitation, whimpering for a particularly hard suck, sure he can feel Alex smiling around him. He'd get his fingers through Alex's hair to give it a teasing tug but Alex is relentless, forcing another groan from Michael stealing his train of thought. Alex feels so _good_ that Michael is coming in minutes, boneless as he half-slides down the wall and almost falls from the counter in the process.

"Careful," Alex says, laughing as he presses between Michael's legs to keep him up. He teases him with a flick of tongue over his tip until Michael whimpers, guiding him to the floor and claiming a kiss. 

"You started it."

"Are you finishing it?" Alex asks, taking Michael's hand to press over the swell in his own jeans. 

Michael kneads at him, claiming a kiss that Alex hums through before taking him by the hand to lead him through to the couch.

"Wait."

Alex squeezes his hand to stop him, turning back for their wedding rings that they tend to take off when cleaning, sliding them on to both their fingers before taking his hand again. Michael takes his time to unbutton Alex's jeans, savouring in slipping his hands inside to push them down past his hips and over his thighs. He sits on the edge of the couch taking his turn to lap over Alex's cock, sucking him into his mouth while tugging his jeans and boxers down to the top of his stump. 

"You gonna sit on me, Alex?" he asks, finishing undressing him, carefully helping Alex remove his prosthetic. He sits back guiding Alex to straddle his lap, taking him in hand the moment he is settled. "You in any hurry?"

"No."

"Good." Michael splays a hand wide on Alex's thigh to keep him steady, tilting his chin asking to be kissed. Alex's hands flutter at his shoulders as he takes his time to get him off, Michael smiling for the way he whimpers against his lips. The moment Alex gets close to coming he squeezes his fingers around his base, shaking his head. "Wait a little bit, huh?"

Alex's swallow is dry as he rapidly nods his head, adjusting his grip on Michael's shoulders and shifting on his knees. He drops his forehead against Michael's as he wraps his fingers around him again, panting as he strokes. Michael presses a kiss to his cheek, his eyes on the slide of Alex's cock through his own fingers, swiping up a spill of precum to ease his way. Alex's chest heaves as he watches him do it, rocking up into Michael's hand as he does. 

By the time Michael has brought him to the edge another three times Alex is desperate, writhing in his lap and pleading to be let come. 

"Maybe just one more, huh?" Michael says, covering Alex's hands on his shoulders with his own and watching him writhing, heat in his core sure with a little persuasion he could be hard again himself. Not that he wants to right now, content to give Alex all the pleasure he needs—with a little teasing, of course.

Alex curses for being denied again which Michael _loves_, also loving just how impatient he gets. He makes it worth the wait, finally letting Alex come just a few minutes later, shuddering so hard for it he almost dislodges himself from Michael's lap.

"Better?" Michael teases when Alex has stopped trembling, laughing when Alex drops his head on to his shoulder with an exhausted groan.

"You're carrying me to the shower," he says as he curls his fingers through Michael's hair. Michael hugs him close, sure that shower can wait a while.

* * *

Michael wakes to laughter, sure he must still be dreaming until he reaches across the sheets to find Alex no longer in bed. He checks his phone, eyes still a little raw from taking so long to get to sleep, closing his eyes when he sees it's already eleven. Their sleeping schedule is a _mess_.

When he hears laughter again, Michael hauls himself up, sticks the heels of his hands into his eyes to wake a little, then drags himself from the bed. He is yawning and stretching as he walks through, aware only of a clearing of a throat and a slight hitch to Alex's voice.

"Good morning."

"Morning, Alex."

"Uh… you maybe wanna get dressed? Or… something?"

Alex's gaze is flickering over him in both interest and amusement; Michael can't figure out why. Though then he hears a familiar tinkling laughter, catching the throw Alex tosses him and wrapping it around his waist before sinking down beside Alex. He throws an arm across his shoulders pressing a kiss to his temple before he looks at the screen.

"Morning, Liz."

"Guerin. No clothes?" Liz pretends to grimace at him before blowing Michael a kiss, then gestures at them with a half-finished milkshake as she picks up a fry. "Alex and I were in the middle of something _important_," she says, dunking the fry into the thick milkshake and making a lot of fuss about eating it. Alex's stomach rumbles, his tongue darting out over his lips.

"Oh, yeah?" Michael says as he looks between them in amusement. He _does_ happen to agree; Crashdown milkshakes with fries are _the_ best of everything. Now they'll have to try to recreate it here; even though it won't be anywhere near as good.

"_So_ good," Liz says around a bite of fry, a splatter of milkshake dropping to the table where she is sat. Arturo sticks his head in to say hello on his way by; and from the way Alex just salutes at him Michael assumes he's been doing that throughout their conversation.

"How've you been, Liz?" Michael asks, as Alex tactfully rearranges the throw across Michael's lap for how it has slipped.

"Great. Everything's good. Got a new mass spectrometer in the lab. New funding. New labcoat," she adds, while looking down at her Crashdown uniform and plucking at it with a grimace. "Everything's good."

"So, you're sticking around for a while longer, then?" Michael asks, glad if she is. Liz came back for a school reunion under the premise of visiting Arturo for a couple of weeks, yet there she still is. She's good for Alex, slotting back into the loving banter and bickering Michael remembers between the two of them in high school. She's also good for _Max_, who never quite got over her leaving. Michael has always been relieved that his and Isobel's plan to send her away because of what happened to Rosa never materialized, for Liz leaving before Isobel had the chance to do anything. Though for the way Max shut down the moment he realized she was gone, and how he lit up the moment she was back again, Michael can only be grateful to her. The two of them aren't quite there _yet_, but Michael thinks they're working towards it. 

"Yeah. I figured I might as well make the most of _you_ not being here," she says sweetly, teasing him as she always does. Michael flips her off anyway because it's just what they do to each other. Alex rolls his eyes at both of them to show he knows their words aren't meant.

"Are you two _ever_ nice to each other?" Alex says in exasperation anyway, because this is the dance they do. Michael and Liz _are_ nice to one another, even if at first they were cautious. In fact, Michael likes all the gadgets in Liz's lab so much, that he's extra glad they became friends.

"When you're not around," Liz says then with a wink, before leaning out of the booth she is in with her hands pressed to the table yelling at Arturo in Spanish.

"He's doing _what_ with the ice machine?" Michael roughly translates missing three words that probably would explain everything better.

"I think he's trying to use it to shred his hand. _Porqué_, Papi? Guys," she says then, exasperation filling her tone, "I need to go, before I need to take him to the _hospital_. We'll speak soon, okay?"

Liz then blows kisses at the screen, still yelling at Arturo as she ends their call. 

Alex pulls Michael into his lap, smiling up at him and tilting his chin for a kiss. 

"You look happy," Michael says as he drapes his arms over Alex's shoulders, smiling for the way he hums in agreement and closes his eyes for his kiss to his forehead.

"I am."

"Good to catch up with Liz?"

"I can actually taste Crashdown milkshake and fries. Right now."

"Well. We can try to make it here?" Michael says doubtfully. Nothing tastes the same anywhere else, of that he is sure.

"When we go back, we're eating the entire menu in there," Alex says, knocking his top lip against Michael's, smiling his way into another kiss.

_Back_. Alex said the word unprompted, and talk of Roswell hasn't put a frown on his face or made him look withdrawn. He looks hopeful, and Michael could cry for it, though won't get his hopes up too soon.

"Well. Seems like Arturo's got some new things for you to try."

"Fries and milkshake first, everything else second."

"Whatever you say, Alex."

Alex smiles, slotting his fingers through the back of his hair dragging Michael into another kiss. Michael gets comfortable on his lap for knowing from Alex's expression that they won't be going anywhere for a while.

* * *

"_Fuck_, Alex…"

Michael digs his fingers into Alex's hips unable to control the judder of his hips, the sound of their skin slapping together seeming abnormally loud. Not that Michael is paying the noise much attention. With a series of hard fast thrusts he is spilling into Alex with a drawn out groan as he comes. Alex pants beneath him, dropping his forehead to the side on the blankets they've spread out on the decking as his breathing evens out. His hands grip the railing posts in front of him, whimpering a little as Michael drops his hands either side of him and smacks a kiss between his shoulder blades.

"So much for us both enjoying the view," Michael adds, still rocking into him slowly. They had only come out to look the decking over after Michael and Rich installed it. Though doesn't one thing always lead to _this_ thing with them?

"At least we know it's sturdy," Alex replies, tilting his hips back so he is still impaling himself on Michael's cock. Michael presses another kiss to his back then withdraws, not wanting Alex on his knees for too long.

"Still. You didn't get to see anything." 

The view of the beach just before sunset is one of the most spectacular views Michael has ever seen; Alex deserves to see at least some of it. He helps Alex to his feet then rearranges blanket and pillows in a mass of softness at the top of the decking steps, pulling Alex to sit between his legs. Though when he does, Michael angles him so Alex's legs are draped over his own, pulling his knees apart to open him wider.

"What are you doing?" Alex says as he wriggles to get comfortable, arching against Michael as he takes him in hand.

"Well, what does it feel like I'm doing?"

"Magical things."

"And this way, you get to enjoy the view," Michael adds with a snorted kiss to the back of his shoulder. While he in turn enjoys all the noises Alex is making. Honestly, is there anything better than this? Sat on the edge of the beach watching the sun set over the shimmering sea, his husband writhing between his legs as he gets him off? 

Alex pants as Michael strokes him, his head pressed hard against Michael's shoulder as he tries to arch into his hand. Michael keeps him in place with a firm press of his palm against his thigh, rewarding him with kisses wherever he can reach whenever Alex moans. Which is a lot; perhaps it's just the late hour, or how still everything looks around him, but Michael is sure Alex's voice could carry for miles. Though Alex has other ideas, hooking his hand around the back of Michael's neck at an awkward angle, trying and failing to kiss him.

"Impatient," Michael teases, altering his grip and humming his approval when Alex whimpers for it. Alex chokes out his name as he stiffens, pressing hard against him before slumping, spilling over Michael's hand. "See?" he says, still stroking Alex until he squirms, then laughing when Alex abruptly unhooks his legs and turns, almost dislodging them from the top step. 

Alex opens his mouth to answer but nothing comes out, instead crossing his arms behind Michael's head for that belated kiss. He hoists himself into Michael's lap which puts them in a precarious position that leaves Michael fearing they might tumble down the decking steps. Alex has no such fear, paying no mind to where they're sat at all.

By the time they pull apart the sun has almost set, stars dotting in the sky overhead. Alex looks up, a soft smile as he slots his fingers together behind Michael's neck. "You've never wondered? Which one could be yours?" he asks, which Michael takes to mean the stars.

"Not really? Not now, anyway. Maybe when I was younger. In fact yeah; when I was a kid. When I didn't have anywhere to be. Yeah, Alex. I thought about it a lot back then. I thought about what it might be to belong somewhere, or to have some history, or something."

"You belong here," Alex says before kissing him again.

"Yeah. I know that now. I didn't know that _then_."

"We know it's called _Antar_, right? From those records we found?"

Those records, that leave a bitter taste in Michael's throat for picturing how such information might have been taken from those aliens kept at Caulfield. He smacks a kiss to Alex's jaw since his gaze is still skyward, adjusting his grip around Alex's back. 

"Yeah. Antar."

"Literally in a galaxy far, far away."

"I can't _believe_ Kyle didn't get that reference," Michael says, laughing out his disbelief. There are moments he remembers from the three of them spending time together that _aren't_ so hard to remember, that aren't laced with Michael's terror for not knowing how to help Alex and calling on Kyle for help. Mostly those memories involve Alex and Kyle's _bickering_ as they rile each other up. They're such _children_ sometimes; Michael loves to listen to it, and also loves to rile Kyle up himself.

"Maybe that's why he never grew up watching sci-fi stuff. With his dad involved in… all of that. Maybe Jim Valenti subconsciously steered him away from it—or consciously."

"Well. Whatever reason it is, Kyle's not budging." Kyle refuses to let Alex _educate_ him on the difference between Star Trek and Star Wars. Michael thinks it's because he likes to play extra dumb because of how indignant, and argumentative Alex gets about it. 

"Maybe he'll change his mind by the time we get back."

Alex doesn't answer. Michael doesn't expect him to. It's only a comment, only a thought instead of a hint; Alex knows that, or should do, for the number of times Michael has told him just as much. Normally it doesn't stop him stiffening, or growing quiet, pensive, and thoughtful anytime the subject of _home_ comes up. Not tonight though. Not the past couple of nights. Alex only presses a long soft kiss to Michael's cheek, mumbling about wanting to see the stars. They remake their nest of blankets and pillows and lie back with their hands tangled together, making up names of constellations until Michael starts to yawn.

"You're tired," Alex says, rolling to his side and resting his hand on Michael's stomach.

"I'm fine."

"But you've done so much these past few days. I think you're allowed to be."

"Well. Not like we need to go anywhere in the morning. We can stay in bed a while longer."

"We will."

Alex leans in to kiss him, and in a silent agreement they stand, Alex long past caring if he needs propping up. He clings to Michael's waist as, with an extra flourish for knowing it will make Alex smile, Michael sends all the blankets and pillows back inside to the couch.

"Do you want something to drink?" Michael asks once they're back inside, Alex taking his crutch from where he left it propped against the back door.

"I think just water for bed?"

Michael nods, smiling as he watches Alex walk through, sure there is a calmness about him he hasn't seen for what feels like a long while. He _likes_ it, likes to see Alex more peaceful within himself as often as he can. It isn't that Alex is maudlin, or miserable, but there are moments he catches him when Alex doesn't seem _present_ at all. Though he's present enough now, turning himself into a blanket burrito by the time Michael has taken his turn to use the bathroom and come through to their bedroom with drinks. He snorts for the sight of him, bending to press a kiss to his hair as he slides Alex's glass on to his nightstand.

"Maybe we should think about going back to Roswell soon."

Michael does not stumble for Alex's words as he makes his way around the bed, though he does take his time to drink his water before climbing in. Alex throws the comforter over him and snuggles in close, pressing a kiss to Michael's chest before resting his head there.

"Well. We will—when you're ready."

"I've been thinking about it. Talking with Molly, and Rich. Thinking about it a _lot_. I miss our family. Our friends. I miss our cabin," Alex adds with another kiss to his sternum. "Not that I don't love it here, obviously. Not that I don't appreciate how hard you worked on all that decking."

"Hey. We broke it, we needed to fix it."

"Well. Technically, it was _me_—"

"Since when aren't we a _we_ for stuff like this, huh, Alex? For _everything_?"

Alex grins at him, then wriggles against him in a way that Michael has learned means he wants him to turn out the lights. Which he obliges him with, wrapping his arms around Alex and squeezing as he settles. It's early, really, but their schedule here is not like back home, sleeping when they can in between Alex's nightmares, lazing out on the decking or beach in the sun to catch up on the sleep they've lost. It's peaceful, and simple. Though if Alex is talking about them going _home_, perhaps that means he is ready for other things. Michael lifts up to get a kiss to the top of his head, telling himself to be brave enough to ask the question.

"You know. We talked about, how if we go back, if you needed to, maybe you'd think about—"

"I should see someone."

Michael tries not to hold his breath, or assume, or think beyond being _quiet_ enough to give Alex room to talk. Alex knows what he's doing, turning his head to press a further kiss into his skin.

"I've been thinking about it. Since long before we came here, and how I didn't want to need it. Therapy, or medication, or any of the other things we've been reading about. I think… maybe when we get back, I should talk to Kyle first. See what he thinks."

"I think, logically, he'll be in a better place to tell you what some of your options are. Or even what kinds of things you could be thinking about." Michael is _excited_; not for the thought of going home, but the idea that Alex might be on the way to wanting to help himself. Though he won't show it. He will only support Alex through whatever he needs, whenever he needs.

"I think so too. I think… I know it won't be anything overnight; being _here_ taught me that. But I think I should… maybe it's time we try to go home."

Michael doesn't know he's holding his breath. Though when he exhales harder than intended, Alex kisses his way up Michael's throat, dropping his head in his neck instead. Michael only holds him, proud of Alex in everything he does, and even prouder for him beginning to make this decision. He keeps his arms around him, drifting off to sleep with a certainty that, no matter how they get there, everything is going to work out.

* * *

**Epilogue**

"If you polish that thing any harder, you're going to make a hole in the side."

Michael scowls for Isobel's _observation_, ignoring her, though also lightening his grip on the cloth he's using to polish a bumper. Unnecessarily. He is up to date on work, his staff are working on cars currently, the entire yard is swept to perfection and not even a speck of sand would currently dare be out of place. 

"He'll be _fine_," Isobel adds, which is the last thing Michael needs to hear right now. He should have gone with Alex to his first therapy session regardless of him being adamant he didn't need him to. He could have sat out in the waiting room, or the truck, or found a cafe to wait in for him instead of being here at work and being terrified of what might be happening.

It is only a first session, he tells himself, with both of them having researched what _therapy_ might entail, and, with Kyle's guidance, prepared Alex for it as much as they could. Today should only be to check paperwork and insurance details, and outline the issues Alex might want to discuss. Michael knows he's over-reacting, or over-worrying, or doing all sorts of over-the-top thinking that he really shouldn't be doing. He can't _help_ it; Alex has been avoiding doing this for _months_. Michael wishes he hadn't allowed Alex to talk him into doing this first session on his own.

"Why are _you_ here?" Michael asks in irritation, scowling at Isobel for how peacefully she is smiling at him. She's been amazing, both her and Max, in fact. Michael hadn't realized how much he was carrying alone with worrying about Alex so much. He doesn't want him to know that either; Alex _needs_ his unconditional support right now. Michael will continue to give that support, though he can't deny it is good to be back home with his siblings around so _he_ can get a little support as well. 

"Dinner. Max's. Tonight. The four of us," Isobel says slowly, enunciating every word, when Michael _knows_ that what she's doing is keeping him company—as well as passing on the invitation for dinner, of course. 

"What are we bringing?"

"Yourselves. Maybe some beer? Max has been raving about these _steaks_ he's getting from a butcher across town. It's been a while since he used that grill."

Michael knows both relief and tension for Alex pulling up just then, abandoning the cloth he's been dragging between his fingers for his entire conversation with Isobel. He tries to gauge from the look on Alex's face through the window just how bad things might be. Does he need to give Isobel a discreet nod to disappear for a few minutes at least? Postpone tonight's dinner for another time?

Alex walks up to them steady and measured, with a tight nod for Isobel as he makes a beeline for Michael. Michael's fingers flare down by his sides wanting to open his arms to him, but also not wanting to push. Alex's smile releases a little of the tension gripping Michael's stomach but he is still holding his breath as Alex closes the gap between then.

"Hey, Alex; how'd it—"

Alex's kiss is hard, and claiming, and not the kind of kiss _Isobel_ needs to be witness to. Michael thinks he hears her snort, say she'll leave them to it; maybe even get in her car and drive away. Alex isn't letting go of him, pressing firm against Michael and wrapping his arms around his neck. His smile is sweet when he pulls back to catch his breath, though before Michael can ask his question again is kissing him once more.

"Was it okay?" Michael gets out when they break apart a second time, his hands secure at his waist.

"It will be," Alex says, with a hopeful, triumphant look in his eyes that lets Michael breathe a little better than he has been doing all day.


End file.
